


Turas

by Grundpfeiler



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, DLC and Interviews included at author's discretion, Gen, JP Petra speech pattern, Mutilated Corpse Weapons, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Roadtrip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24390700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundpfeiler/pseuds/Grundpfeiler
Summary: Wherein everyone is reminded that Enbarr is a very old city, there is absolutely no good excuses for why the heirs of Hresvelg are in the Enbarrain palace's dungeon and Edelgard and company master the skill of "Exit stage right - pursued by Fódlan."Seiros happens upon Edelgard in the dungeons of Enbarr and the resulting aftermath AU.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg & Rhea
Comments: 42
Kudos: 107





	1. Finscéal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [In Memoriam of: My Aunt](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=In+Memoriam+of%3A+My+Aunt).



1\. Noun - Legend

2\. Noun - Fairytale

* * *

The rats knew first. For all of her days Edelgard would remember that.

The rats always knew first. The constantly scurrying things stared at Edelgard with beady eyes in the darkness - the boldest daring to nip at her toes. She could smell them, hear their claws scraping and clicking upon the stone - the sounds of their breathing, gnawing on food, the cries, the fights, and see the outline of the shuddering, churning, breathing mass of shadows in the darkness.

And when the demons in human flesh came to visit - the beasts scattered - slipping back into the cool cracked stone walls out of sight when measured footsteps echoed in the damp darkness underneath the royal palace of Enbarr. Leaving behind their waste and dead, what wasn't eaten at least. The same as the time after the last operation: Edelgard's arms on fire, opened up with their knives and a sludge pumped into her veins before a glowing, clinical and unthinking, hand was placed - magic sealing the unknown poison within her. A raging fire igniting in her chest that for all she twisted and tried to scream couldn't escape.

Edelgard remembered passing out from the pain and waking to the sounds of the rats. Fire burning in her lungs, driving her breath from her chest in short bursts. Left alone gasping in the stinking darkness until her "uncle" had arrived. Two of the demons with their black crow masks dominated by long curved beaks escorting him, carrying torches of yellow light, the brightness glaring after her time underground. The sound of the crackling flames felt puny compared to the inferno in her chest. The man wearing her uncle's stolen face smiled at the sight of her, heedless of the cold sweat trickling down her face. He reached out, plucking a strand of her hair from her face and pulling it towards him.

Her brown hair was bleached away - leaving behind a sickly white that gleamed like ghostly gold in the firelight. He had smiled, looking down at her as if she was some prize. "Reinforce the chains - we've had a success."

And then he had left, the only change beyond the food and water being dropped off each day was the new heavier chains clamped around Edelgard's wrists and ankles. Steel cuffs that were seared shut with magic - a signal that she would no longer be taken out of her stone cage for more experiments. And she was left in the dark, the only company the rats,the constant heavy weight of her restraints, and the baleful glow of the new purple crest she could force out of her hand. And the red of the Crest of Seiros - which she called upon as she lost track of time in the darkness. The red light did not ease the pain of the roaring fire any faster than time, but with the light she felt as if she could withstand the pain.

Edelgard did not know how long it had been when the rats suddenly froze - and began running away. One moment the churning mass was still - the next streaming away - crying out in fear as they forced themselves out from under the iron door of her cell. Crying out in pain as they clawed over each other, tearing themselves apart in the mad rush to escape - to run. Edelgard could smell the stench of blood.

Edelgard hadn't prayed since the first month in the dungeons under what once was her home. The goddess and saints had not come for them when her siblings first began wilting, bones visible alongside the scars. The goddess had been silent when Edelgard's siblings passed her in the dark halls while they were dragged into the room of knives and sometimes carried back out. The goddess had not spared them any mercy when her siblings began to die. Even with the crest of Seiros, Edelgard did not pray - just willed the fragile light to give her the strength to feel the warmth of the sun again.

She did not pray or hope when she heard smooth footsteps on the other side of the wall behind her head. Edelgard stood still and motionless - expecting a malicious trick like the one that had stolen her brother Conrad from them. From the other side of the room she heard the scrape and groan of ancient stone forced to move from their resting spot of centuries. And in the darkness of the cell was a new darkness, deep and changing the cold of the room from the stationary chill that sank into every corner to one that moved past her - the scent of distant fresh air emanating from the rectangle of black. And in that rectangle of blackness was a pair of eyes that gleamed in the shadow - and Edelgard could see the gleams become slits for one instant.

On instinct Edelgard reached for her crest - the old one, the one passed down from her father to her, from his father and his father's father - all the way back to Wilhelm the first Emperor of Adrestia over a thousand years ago. The puny red light revealed a woman frozen in the movement of stalking towards her silently - hair made of pitch blackness and eyes framed by square glasses.

The eyes that no longer glowed, pupils wide but human shaped, blinked. Then slowly the woman spoke, her accent a slight variant of the lands directly controlled by the Church. "Shh - your highness. You will be okay." The woman reached for the chains consideringly - and twisted - breaking the first with a snap.

Edelgard jerked her corresponding wrist in surprise - losing her projection of her crest - the loose links jangling in the air. Her wrist - rubbed raw and bloody - felt light.

"What is your name, child?" The woman asked calmly, soothingly as she reached for another chain. Edelgard bristled - she was not to be soothed.

"My name is Edelgard von Hvesrelg." Edelgard wanted her voice to be commanding - the scion of a house of over a thousand years. Instead it wavered and croaked, dry and weak. Edelgard coughed - throat unused to speech after so long. "Who are you?" She challenged - staring at the figure in the darkness.

There was no answer at first - just the snap of another chain breaking. The thick, heavy chains, with links wide enough to hold young wyverns were being snapped by hand. And then the distinct shape of a metal flask was pressed into her hands - unerring despite the gloom. "Drink that." Her companion in the darkness commanded.

Edelgard stared at where the woman's voice emanated. "Who are you?" She asked again - squaring her shoulders. She may be tired and dirty, stripped of the sunlight, the sky and freedom for longer than she could remember but she was Edelgard von Hvesrelg.

There was a moment of silence before the woman spoke. "Call me Seiros." The tone of the essentially invisible woman was almost amused, her voice mostly wry - except for a subtle rage that rippled underneath.

It was an obvious false name - albeit a fitting one for a rescuer with immense and inhuman strength - but false as Seiros had lived and died centuries ago. Seiros obviously was a normal human, likely a thief who having managed to walk into a plot against the royal line had some of the most terrible luck imaginable.

Tell that to the rats. The rats who avoided the guards and torturers but never panicked. Or Edelgard who listened as the woman snapped chains with links the width of several of Edelgard's fingers. Edelgard who would never forget the eyes that glowed with slits for pupils in the dark.

It didn't matter - Edelgard would accept anyone, thief or monster from beyond history, if doing so would free her from the cell.

With tired and shaking hands Edelgard opened the flask and drank deeply of the water, clean and cool and stinging her parched mouth. In the silence the woman - Seiros - continued snapping the chains. And then one of her hands lit up with the bright light of a healing spell. Despite herself Edelgard flinched away - her eyes snapping shut at the sharp light.

"May I see your wrists Edelgard?" The woman asked, cupping the light behind her other hand. Edelgard forced her to hold out her hand - staring down the memories of healing light brought forward just before she was dragged back to the glinting knives. Cool relief blanched her wrist, which spread to the raw and aching skin of her other wrist and ankles. The heat of the cuts on her back cooled. Edelgard fought to contain a shiver as a winter mountain wind roared through her blood, chilling as frost.

Then the light died - and Edelgard gratefully opened her eyes, warmth chasing the numbness from her fingers. "These chains were sealed by magic." Seiros noted - as if seeing the lack of a keyhole in the dark, the perfectly smooth plane of metal that circled Edelgard's limbs. A low weak flame barely alive blossomed in Seiros' palm. Even that dim light stung and made Edelgard's eyes water.

"Is there anyone else down here?" The dark haired woman asked, pushing back coal colored frames when the eye-wear threatened to slip off her nose.

"My siblings." Edelgard said, capping the canteen and giving it back to the woman.

"Ten more," Seiros said to herself, standing up to her full, and impressive, height - towering over Edelgard.

"No," Edelgard corrected her, "Not anymore."

Seiros looked at her, face studiously blank and emotionless before turning to the iron door sealing the two in. "Close your eyes."

Edelgard covered her sensitive prickling eyes as soon as she heard the advice - just in time as a flare of searing heat blossomed through the cold chill air.

The low, murmuring crackle of flame was unnaturally soft for such a blaze - a furnace of fire billowing the air with warmth - still Edelgard found the sound too loud. This was her one and only chance for the siblings that she still had to be saved.

Edelgard winced at the sound of the metal door being set to the side of one wall with a slight scraping noise that echoed down the stone passageways. She and Seiros froze - listening for any watchers to move towards the disturbance. The only sound to be heard was their own breathing and the slight chatter of Edelgard's chain links clanking against each other.

Seiros turned towards Edelgard slightly - eyes focused on the end of the passage where a sharp corner cut off their line of sight. "How many are we rescuing?"

"Three," Edelgard responded - shivering slightly in a sudden chill despite the burning fire in her chest.

Seiros nodded slowly, the cupped flame in her hand spluttering momentarily and trembling like a candle left in a winter's night.

The two stalked down the dark corridor - the barest flicker of flame lighting the way. In hushed tones Edelgard revealed all that she knew of the defenses and forces in the dungeons.

"All of the palace guards who remain are subverted." Edelgard began, memories flashing through her mind, tearing through the pain and haze of those days trying to count how many she'd seen when dragged to that room.

"There's always a handful patrolling the corridors between cells but the majority is - " Edelgard cut herself off as the cupped flame in Seiros' hand cut off silently - both their eyes fastened on the glow of a torch highlighting the approaching corner.

Edelgard swallowed, bracing herself - she'd wanted to find at least one of her siblings before the alarm went out - but there had never been a chance of escaping with everyone silently.

Seiros put a hand to Edelgard's shoulder, and in the gloom Edelgard could barely see the upheld hand.

Wait.

Edelgard turned her head to give the woman a look of incredulity - there was nowhere to h- but Seiros rushed down the corridor just as the traitorous guard turned the corner.

The man never had a chance to scream - Seiros wrapped one hand around his throat and lifted him into the air, her momentum freezing in an instant. Seiros' other hand flashed to the arm bearing the torch and Edelgard could hear the snap before the torch clanked to the ground. The torch falling was the loudest sound of the endeavor - the man tried to thrash but Seiros held him firmly in one hand - his face turning blue in the light of the dropped torch. The man struggled until Seiros relieved him of his sword and speared the helpless man through the chest.

The scent of blood brought Edelgard out of her stunned stillness. She walked forward, pausing to grab the fallen torch with slitted eyes nearly blinded as Seiros placed the man to the ground - with all the care of someone removing dung from the stables with a suspect wheelbarrow. Then the woman removed the blade from the corpse and cleaned it on a visible section of leather.

"The majority is within the open space surrounding the stairwell?" Seiros asked - appraising the edge of the blade, one brow raised as she eyed one gouge. At Edelgard's silence Seiros turned. "That is what you were going to say, yes?" Edelgard nodded slowly in response - and making her decision to seize upon Seiros' knowledge of the palace dungeon later.

"Yes - there tends to be a large force of armored knights and a host of mages in the choke point. Their mages use a strange magic - darker in color and it carries the stench of rotting fish." Edelgard continued. Seiros stared directly at Edelgard as she finished speaking - her face as serene as a snow-covered mountain pass - and Edelgard felt a deep chill as the torch she held spluttered and died.

"How many of these strange mages tend to be down here?" Seiros asked - her voice in the dark the gentle quiet wind rattling a windowpane before the heavy snows arrive. Edelgard answered when she no longer felt at risk of having her teeth chatter. "One or two near the stairwell, Jaqueline one saw others in a room they turned into a records office, and there is always more in the surgery room." Edelgard forced her voice to be even.

"Surgery room." Edelgard heard the swish of Seiros' clothes as she turned to look down the passage as though she could see the demon mages.

Thief - Seiros is a thief Edelgard told herself. The most outrageously physically competent thief in three generations who either had no idea or inclination to actually capitalize on the possibilities of her ability combined with the most fortunate and ironic sense of compassion. There was simply no time for Edelgard to consider any of the other possibilities for why someone would walk into the Enbarr's palace dungeons unknowing of the recent events.

Seiros stayed silent for a moment, then asked, "How do the sections link together?" As the woman knelt, one hand absently calling the flickering flame. Edelgard blinked as the woman peered at the dead man's boots before shaking her head slightly with a disappointed sigh.

"Each separate block of the dungeon has twenty cells - and they only connect to the stairwell vestibule."

Seiros nodded consideringly as she stood, the sword held loosely in one hand as the woman swung it experimentally - testing it's weight.

"Do you know who has the keys to the cells?" The woman continued as the pair resumed creeping along the cool stone passageways.

"Down here," Edelgard replied, wincing as one of her ankle chains rattled particularly loudly as they turned a corner. "I've never seen any of-" Grief caught her voice for a second, "- my siblings or myself moved without one of their mages present. And one of them was always carrying the keys."

The two stopped talking as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed. Seiros waited - and then turned the corner just in time to thrust the sword through the throat of guard. "In my experience," the woman began as she removed her claimed weapon from the corpse, "vermin like these never take their notes anywhere near the light of day."

Edelgard looked at the ax the guards-woman had carried thoughtfully - before lifting it to test it's heft. It was heavy - bulky and unwieldy - but Edelgard knew that she could use it. Seiros watched her and Edelgard knew that the woman approved.

"Next to the surgery room, there was another cell that they commandeered." Edelgard added.

Seiros smiled - a dark and dangerous thing in the light of the flickering flame. "Good - searching the palace would have been difficult."

"How do you plan on sneaking past the guards?" Edelgard asked as the two grew closer to where the majority of the guards remained - the central point of the dungeon.

"I wasn't." Seiros replied evenly as she let the flame in her hand die - the light from the all too near torches visible in the dark. The clatter of dice and the roar of laughter echoed upon the stone.

"Wait-" Edelgard began but the raven haired thief (for what else could Edelgard call the woman) continued walking.

"Wait until I have their attention then go free your siblings." The woman called back and then stepped into the light of the torches.


	2. Éalaigh

1\. Verb - To Escape

* * *

Edelgard never saw the first attacker move - but she knew exactly how fast the man must have moved. Exactly as fast as she did as she bolted to the doorway that connected her section of the underground prison to the central area. Ten steps - that was all the time it took for her to grab the stone ledge and, squinting through the too bright torch light, look around the corner. 

The guardsman with black hair and a scar running down his face was already dead. Seiros held the wrist of his sword hand while her own sword gutted him. 

It was so fast that Edelgard could hear the dice still falling to the ground, forgotten, as the other traitors reached for their weapons. Seiros however was still moving - slamming the corpse off her blade with her shoulder. The corpse hurtled towards an armored knight lurching forward with his lance locked in position to thrust.

The armored knight batted the body aside with one arm - but it was too late. 

Seiros already had a ball of flame swirling in the palm of her hand. 

The spell blasted through the air - and when it struck the armored guard it didn't stop. The armored knight flew through the air to crash into a stone wall. 

Edelgard heard the door to the stairwell bang open as a woman in the telltale robes of a mage rushed up the stairs screaming for reinforcements.

A quartet of guards encircled a battered wooden table - playing cards and dice abandoned - a mage, a healer, a warrior and another armored knight. The healer of the group momentarily looked towards the deathly still armored knight smashed against the wall before returning his gaze to Seiros. Suddenly red runes appeared in midair - hurtling towards Seiros while the warrior erupted into motion. The red-haired woman vaulted off the playing table - the cards splaying through the air, the armored knight directly behind her. 

Seiros twisted, turning sideways to dodge the runes before bending backwards to duck beneath the sweep of the warrior's ax. A scream rang out - the warrior clutching at her middle - dark crimson spilling through her fingers. The healer began to cast a healing spell - the armored knight interposing themself between Seiros and the magic support. 

Lighting thundered - the mage dealing into the fray. Seiros rolled under the spell, leaping forward to thump the hilt of her sword into the knight's helmet before vaulting over the figure to reach the back line. Yet another guard burst out from the side- a swordsman having rushed back from patrol of another section. Seiros blocked the sword strike while still in midair. 

Edelgard covered her eyes at a flash of light as the healer completed his spell. Blinking slowly - her head turned, and she saw the _other_ group. 

A second quartet of figures in dark clothes with deathly pale faces sat quietly on the other side of the room - watching the fight without reaction. Edelgard's fingers tightened on her ax - feeling the solid weight of the weapon. They were the group that circulated around the mages who bore the knives down on her family. 

A death rattle returned her attention to Seiros' fight. The healer was dead on the floor - blood spilling from his slit throat - while Seiros was finishing executing a spinning dodge that happened to slice the female warrior down from shoulder to hip. The mage attempted to fire another bolt of lightning - and hit the armored knight as Seiros skidded to one side, leaping over a thrust of the guard's lance. 

With the crack of lighting the knight roared with pain, pausing for a moment too long. Seiros sprung from the ground, sword angled in an attempt to carve through the metal helm. And from behind Seiros flared the crest of... _Seiros_ , the actual Saint Seiros. With a mighty crack the helmet failed as did the sword. With the sound of collapsing metal, the knight crumpled. 

Seizing the opportunity, the swordsman attempted to cut Seiros down while her back was turned. The raven-haired woman heard him - and slammed one fist into his wrist. The sword dropped and Seiros spun to face the mage once more, leaving the swordsman matching the healer on the floor in her wake - his own blade red with blood in her hand. 

Well, Edelgard thought, Seiros' shamelessness in her alias was explained. 

At last the pale quartet stirred - the vivid color and size of the crest blaring out for all that Seiros bore a major crest. The raven-haired woman with the ridiculous alias was one of the most dangerous combatants anyone could meet by virtue of that fact alone. A truth that was hammered home as Seiros speared the mage through. In one corner of the room the remaining patrols of the Enbarr guards emerged from the depths of the dungeon as the last armored knight planted themselves in front of the stairwell as if believing they could stop Seiros from breaching through. 

A swordswoman lunged at Seiros as the latter turned to look at the darkly armored group, the thief's nostrils flaring as if smelling something besides the rot and damp of the dungeon. Seiros didn't even give the traitor her full attention, her sword flashing low to slash the hamstring as she stepped to the side of the lunge before reversing the grip to stab through the traitor's back - never moving her eyes from the group in black. 

One of the ebony clad warriors shrugged, heaving his ax off the ground before walking to meet Seiros - his fellows following shortly behind him. The group was better equipped than the normal guards - weapons less battered and armor heavier. The armored warrior was a mountain of metallic plates that clanked with every movement. And Edelgard could see Seiros gauge the group as a greater threat - body lowering as her stance widened. 

The lead warrior lunged forward with his ax. Seiros dodged to the left, moving forward to punish the encroachment into her range, but the swordsman lashed out with his own weapon, forcing the woman back. 

An Enbarrian traitor charged at Seiros' back - just as the ax wielder threw himself into a two-handed swing. Seiros ducked into a roll underneath the sweeping ax but the warrior did not pull his swing for the Adrestian guard and buried the weapon deep into the traitor's side. Seiros sprung up like a demonic rabbit and drew her blade deep across the man's forearms. Then she caught the shaft of the other ax of the black armored group with her off hand - and pulled the wielder in to pierce his heart with her blade. 

"What is the cause of this racket!" A mage called, emerging from yet another section of the dungeon, a fellow behind him. Edelgard froze - seeing the beak mask. Not just any mage - one of the torturer mages. The bearers of the knives. 

Edelgard saw Seiros look at her, and then the woman sprung forward - ignoring the armored knight, the swordsman and the injured ax wielder. The force of nature surged forward - gutting the speaker. The other mage began to cast, darkness welling up from the blood splattered floor but Seiros gripped him by the throat and hurled him into the room proper, his head snapping with a hideous crack upon impact. 

Edelgard at last moved - sliding across the slick floor to tear into the robes of the first dead monster, searching for the jangling iron keys that still echoed down the stone corridors in her nightmares. She heard the blast of a spell - the heat searing her skin even from a distance - but Edelgard dared not look up as she pulled out a concoction from the folds of the man's robes, a flask of some kind, a pocket watch, a twisted dagger - but no keys. 

A body went hurtling overhead as Edelgard darted to where the second mage's cooling corpse lay - his neck twisted to a ghoulish angle. Edelgard tore through the man's robes with the dagger - leaving the still corpse in shreds of cloth. Yet from the voluminous folds the keys to her siblings' freedom was not visible - but a single key did emerge. A small shape of brass - not the keys to the chains and doors Edelgard needed - but... 

The rolling drumbeat of armored feet thundering down the stairwell finally echoed. Edelgard looked up in time to watch Seiros remove the last combatant in the room's head from neck. The dark-haired woman smiled thinly - pushing up the frames of her glasses with one finger - leaving a smear of blood upon one lens, "Find your family - I will hold the line." 

Edelgard snatched the brass key - darting down the passage to the room of nightmares. Even in the dark Edelgard knew every turn, every footstep, every stone on the way to the room where her blood had run to the floor. And next to it - the room dimly seen as she was dragged back, curled in on herself from pain, a room of documents and papers. If the torturing monsters did not have the keys upon them - the ring would be within that room. 

The sound of battle was comparatively distant as Edelgard shoved the key into the lock - the sound of clanging steel audible but not roaring so far from the central room. With a click the door opened - revealing a room lit with a lantern hanging from a hook set into the ceiling. The firelight spilling out from the glass enclosure revealed three desks within the room - and a stack of folders upon them. 

Edelgard glanced to the side of the door - and the hook at perfect level to receive the master keys of the dungeon was empty. 

Edelgard ran to the first desk, yanking open the drawers, and searching through the miscellaneous scraps of paper and quills within. There were the remnants of cloth and indecipherable scribblings but not the keys. Edelgard ignored the image of a human body sketched upon one sheet - she knew that form. And she did not want to know what the monsters had done to Alaine. 

Edelgard moved to the second desk. The drawer stuck. Edelgard lifted her ax from her shoulder and swung. The ax lodged deep into the wood. Edelgard pulled the weapon from the desk and swung again. She heard the metal lock give. 

Edelgard dug through the drawer again - spell casting material, chalk and the damned knives were all that nestled within. 

With the third drawer Edelgard pulled the entire block of wood out and dumped it to the stone floor. Papers fluttered in the air, wet things landed with a splotchy sound - a container of ink crashed and broke, dyeing the floor black. But no keys. 

Edelgard went to the walls of the room - where satchels and more robes smelling of blood hung upon hooks. Dark blotchy shapes in the light of the low burning lantern. She found chalk, knives, chains, notebooks, more chalk and a canteen that smelled like hard spirits. What Edelgard did not find was the cursed keys.

From outside Edelgard could hear the sounds of battle faintly - and then a boom that accompanied a sudden shudder through the floor. For a foolish second the scion of Hresvelg froze. 

Edelgard forced herself to breathe - to ignore the possibilities running wild through her mind of what was happening in the central room of the dungeon. There was nothing she could do to help the woman holding off the entirety of the palace traitors but find the keys. Edelgard swung the ax to rest over her shoulder. The mages wouldn't have taken the keys upstairs - in all Edelgard's days trapped beneath the ground there was a distinctively limited number of Enbarr guards that populated the roster. Not everyone knew what was going on in the dungeons. 

So where were the keys? She'd search the two - the realization struck Edelgard as if a second explosion rocked the dungeon. She'd search two corpses and there were three desks. Edelgard dove to the desk with the folders - and one was opened. 

Damn, damn, _damn_. 

The monster was actively visiting Eliza - the name the only words that Edelgard understood upon the visible pages. Edelgard turned to leave - and then swept the entire stack of folders into an abandoned satchel. Then she swung the ax - knocking the lantern from its perch and into the wall of fabric of blood scented robes. 

May the room and that was left within it burn.

Edelgard dashed back out the room - the satchel thumping down her side. The sounds of clanging metal grew louder and Edelgard leaped over the mage corpses in the direct entry way. The fighting had continued in her absence - more bodies littered the ground. Despite the cooling mounds' presence Seiros stood before the only passage out of the stairwell connecting the dungeon to the palace proper. 

Edelgard had spared the barest glance at the sole defender when another one of the outsiders in dark armor burst out - attempting to behead Seiros from behind. The woman ducked - and allowed the spear that had been aimed at her heart to carry forward and stab the second attacker before resuming her defense. 

Edelgard ran - jumping over the dead in a straight line for the quadrant of the dungeon the dark clothed attacker had come from. Edelgard felt the blood under her feet cooling and growing tacky as she pushed herself - the fire that burned in her chest echoed by the fire growing in her lungs as she ran into the darkness. A turn to the left, a turn to the right - blindly running through the stone corridors while the sounds of weapons clashing bounced off the walls towards her. 

Then - the sounds of chains twitching in pain. The hoarse noises of pain from someone too tired to _scream_. Edelgard turned on her heel, feeling skin wear away on the stones underfoot and gripped her ax in two hands as she raced towards the sounds of her older sister being tortured. 

Edelgard forced herself to slow as she saw the light of a torch set in a sconce. She wanted the demon's blood on the ground that very second - she wanted to drive the ax into their chest. But Edelgard knew she would have _one_ attempt. Holding her breath, she crept into the room - all too aware of the sound of her feet sticky with blood made upon the floor. Of the rattle of the chains dangling from her wrists and ankles. 

The monster didn't hear her. It was too busy pouring something purple and bubbling into a gash on her sister's arm. Edelgard swung - aiming down upon the open back. At the last moment the mage spun. 

Desperate to correct Edelgard attempted to follow the movement - trying to twist the ax so that the swinging head would hit. The curved blade of her weapon buried itself into the gut of the plague masked torturer as the weight tore the handle from Edelgard's hands. More hot blood flowed freely down to the ground to join that of Eliza's around Edelgard's feet. A grievous but not instantly lethal wound. 

Already swirling light glinted from one hand of the mage - the other pressed to the wound attempting to staunch the flow of blood. "You," the mage began - only for Eliza to smash into the figure from behind just before reaching the end of her chains but succeeding in knocking the cloaked madman down. The bird mask toppled to the ground as Eliza and the revealed man went sprawling from the impact. Eliza had never been the strongest or largest of Edelgard's siblings - but like nearly all of them the woman was bigger than Edelgard herself. 

"Run!" Eliza demanded - finding the strength to roar the command despite the bleeding wound in her arm, the months underground and the rawness of her voice. 

Edelgard ignored Eliza instead throwing herself forward with the twisted knife of the mages Seiros had killed. The mage twisted and attempted to kick out, but Eliza grasped the flailing limb, chains chattering upon the floor. Edelgard swooped in and drove the knife through the eye of the pale skinned figure who had never known to be afraid until that moment. The body went limp. And Edelgard had no time to breathe before Eliza threw her arms around her. 

"You idiot - get out now." The woman hissed in Edelgard's ear. Edelgard smiled at the familiar sound of her sister scolding her, too relieved to be angry. "They are going to kill you for this." Eliza whispered - "You need to escape now." Eliza's eyes weren't focusing right Edelgard realized - her sister was squinting even more so than Edelgard was and the color was wrong. Filmy almost, Edelgard thought as she ignored her sister and instead began to search through the dead man's robes for the glorious sound of jingling keys. 

"Edelgard," Eliza snapped, attempting to grab Edelgard's hand as she brought the keys to one of the chains to try and find the right key. "Listen to me - you have to run. Hubert and whoever he's hired can't hold the entire palace off forever." Edelgard smiled despite her heart tearing apart at hearing her older sister plead for her to leave all of them behind. 

"It's not Hubert." Edelgard answered as she tried a second key - ears straining to hear the clatter of weapons far off. 

"Then who is it?" Eliza bit out as the first of the chains came loose.

Edelgard thought for a moment as she moved to the next chain. "A madwoman." 

Soon Edelgard and Eliza were all too slowly walking their way down the hall. Portions of the dead man's robes had bound the gouge in Eliza's arm, having purple liquid congealing into a sickly yellow sheen within, and a blindfold for Eliza's ever sensitive eyes. 

Edelgard felt Eliza's fingers tighten around hers as the smell of blood hit them like a wave. And looking towards Seiros Edelgard could see why.

Blood was pooling around the woman's ankles - spilling out from the stairwell. And behind the figure of the woman Edelgard could see bodies and weapons piling up inside the enclosed space, blood trickling down the stairs like a steadily dripping faucet. 

Around Seiros' feet shards of metal littered the ground. Edelgard blinked at that as she guided Eliza around the bodies, through the tacky pools of blood when she heard it. The shattering of a weapon. 

Edelgard jerked her head up in alarm - eyes widening in alarm at the mere two inches of jagged steel jutting out from the hilt in Seiros' grasp. 

Seiros looked down at the broken weapon in her hand for a brief moment - her face and body slumping in sheer exasperation. Then the woman stood and chucked the useless handle into one attacker's face before heaving an uppercut into a second's. 

"There's only one person?" Eliza asked - head twisting as she attempted to track the chaos with only her ears. "Yes," Edelgard answered - guiding her sister to just past the entryway to the side of the dungeon where they would all escape. "You will be safe." Edelgard promised, smiling despite everything at the sight of her sister rolling her eyes, the movement visible in the contours of Eliza's face even with the blindfold in place. There was still an Eliza in Edelgard's life. 

Then Edelgard left - picking one of the doorways at random to search for the remaining survivors of the eleven scions of Hresvelg. She ran through the dark calling out for her siblings. 

"Selene!" Edelgard shouted as she came to a stop, swinging the now bloodied ax into one door to mark her path. 

"Balthasar!" She called as she opened one door to peer within the gloom. 

A left turn, another right, a final left and Edelgard found herself looking at the last dead end of the section. 

Edelgard grit her teeth and ran back to the front. There were only eight sections underground - and she now knew where her siblings weren't in four of them. 

Edelgard spared a single moment to check upon Seiros' continuing battle with the palace. The woman appeared to be soaked in blood from anywhere below the knees but stood tall and was animatedly thrusting a spear into the stairwell as Edelgard passed. 

Edelgard blinked - where had the earlier reinforcements in the dungeon had come from? Where had the patrols been taking place? Edelgard looked to the now cooled corpses - reviewing in her mind's eye the opening carnage of Seiros' entry. There had been the swordsman, the armored knight and then the players at the card table... Edelgard turned to the entryway where the other swordsman had appeared from to attack Seiros when she'd went for the supporting casters. 

"Selene! Balthasar!" She called - darting through the darkness, refusing to acknowledge the fatigue beginning to creep into her limbs. She hadn't moved so long in... It didn't matter because a rumbling explosion ground out behind her. Edelgard pushed herself harder - she had more time than should have been possible, but it was still limited. 

Worry tinged through Edelgard's mind as she ran - hearing nothing but the battle beyond and her own breathing. She would search every room if she had to - but they did not have the time. "Sele-" Then she heard it - the clatter of chains. Edelgard broke out to a sprint, one hand fumbling for the key ring as she ran. Just one more dark cold door in a line of others - but behind it the sounds of life scratched themselves out. 

With a wild clang Edelgard pushed the door open. "Selene? Balthasar is that you?" Edelgard called out as she stepped forward - only to feel small arms wrap around her, fists tightening in the remnants of Edelgard's shirt. Arms much too thin. 

"Selene." Edelgard smiled, leaning down to return the hug of her only younger sister. "I'm okay and we're getting out of here." She attempted to reassure. Selene only nodded into Edelgard's chest. Edelgard frowned, reaching down to place one hand on Selene's cheek in the dark. Puffy and hot cuts swelled from the surface. 

"Can you walk?" Edelgard asked, concerned.

Another nod was the only reply. Edelgard swallowed her concern and reached for the ankle restraints. 

"Alright then-," another shuddering explosion rocked the foundations. And then another, and another. The sound of thunder repeating itself again and again. Something had changed. 

Edelgard flung herself at getting the restraints off her little sister. There was no more time for talking. 

It was mere minutes to guide Selene back to the central dungeon killing ground. It was still too long. 

Large chunks of ice wrapped around the stairwell, patching holes where stone and brick had been pushed out. Edelgard pointed Selene to where Eliza was safely hidden and swallowed her fears at the sight of her sister's hair being the same sickly white as hers. The same sickly white visibly showing through the roots of Eliza's hair. 

"They are attempting to breach through the ceiling." Seiros serenely informed Edelgard - not even looking away from where she batted a shield away with an ax. "I will hold, but the roof won't." Another rumble and dust and mortar crumbled to the floor, underlying Seiros' warning. 

"There's only one of us left to find." Edelgard informed the woman. 

With an especially vicious strike Seiros embedded the ax between the joints of armor and retrieved a sword from the fresh corpse's grip. "Then go." 

Edelgard jumped over the bodies of the second set of reinforcements that had attempted to attack Seiros and plunged into the darkness that the group had emerged from. She had a brother to find. One that thankfully answered her quickly when she called. 

"Edelgard!" - The once cheerful bellow of Balthasar was still powerful - but worn and weak. "What are you doing here!" The man demanded as Edelgard opened the cell. 

"I already heard this with Eliza - I am not leaving you behind." Edelgard cut in as she began unlocking the last of the chains. 

"Eliza is free?" Balthasar asked - rubbing one wrist as Edelgard searched for the ankle chains in the dark. 

"And Selene - you're the last." Edelgard informed him. 

Balthasar sighed, "I'd hoped -" But her older brother cut himself off. Her brother stood - and near collapsed when he put his weight on his left leg. He grabbed the chains to keep himself upright. 

"Lean on me." Edelgard ordered. Without grumbling Balthasar listened to her for once in their lives. Edelgard warred between gratefulness that her brother was light enough for her to support and deep-seated worry at the fact that her much taller and muscular brother had withered enough for her to support. 

They returned just in time. Through the falling stones of the ceiling Edelgard could see teams of mages blasting down into the ceiling above, and the stairwell itself seemed to be more confined by shattered and repatched ice than mortar. The pair were just past the halfway point of the central room when the first reinforcements began to leap down from above. A pair of ax wielders. 

Seiros reacted instantly - firing a massive fireball upwards at the breach to stall further attackers. Her attention split, the forces in the stairwell attempted to strike out with bared steel. The thief danced away from the blades and tossed a second fireball at them in answer. The woman took a single step back to launch a spear of ice through the opening gap of a second breach. 

Through this Edelgard and Balthasar kept moving towards their exit route. The ax wielders attempted to bypass Seiros and strike directly at them. Edelgard held her ax in one hand, twisting underneath her brother's weight to try and meet them. A spear whistled through the air like a javelin to splinter upon impact on the leading one's legs, sending the man sprawling to the blood coated floor. The other was knocked down by a thrown helmet. 

"Don't look at them. Keep moving." Seiros ordered - her attention already back at controlling three different entry points. The woman was backing up, relinquishing her iron control over the stairwell with forces already spilling forth in massed numbers, but was firing spells so quickly the guards could not capitalize on any front. 

A daring soul attempted to leap down through a newly breached hole. Seiros spun and a massive shard of ice punched through the air to shatter upon the stone wall with a meaty thud as the corpse mounted on the ice hit. An entire squad attempted to move out from the stairwell only to be met with glowing spots of light conjoining underneath them in an explosion of fire. A crafty swordswoman managed to dodge behind the stairwell as cover as she leapt down from above, only to be grabbed by Seiros and her neck broken when she came too close. The body dropped to the ground and Seiros already had spells lighting up between her fingers. 

The group stepped back too slowly to where Eliza and Selene hid. Edelgard held her breath the moment that Selene poked her head around to see what was happening before Eliza dragged their surviving youngest back into the safety of the shadows. Every step backwards meant Seiros gave up further control of the stairwell, increased the number of combatants upon the floor puddled in blood. Every step backwards meant that the area Seiros had to control to guarantee the safety of Edelgard and her siblings decreased. 

The woman swung yet another stolen blade with certainty as more attackers approached, cleaving through necks and hands whenever any dared breach the slowly shrinking semi-circle she guarded. An archer shot an arrow across the room and a dropped shield met it in flight before carrying forward to clang upon an attacker's head. The sheer numbers of the traitorous guards were working against them once again as Seiros always found someone in reach in time to throw into the path of a weapon, spell or arrow. And so, the dance continued - Seiros darting back and forth with blood flying. 

Edelgard kept walking, counting down the steps as she and Balthasar continued. At twenty-five steps she heard Seiros grab someone close behind her and then felt the air blast of a spell hitting an obstacle.

At eighteen steps Seiros ordered "Duck!" and Balthasar and Edelgard knelt as something exploded midair and for three steps the guards didn't seem to dare move. 

At seven steps Edelgard felt hot blood splash upon her cheek. 

At three steps Eliza stepped forward and helped drag Balthasar the last bit into the safety of the corridor. 

All four of them were safe. And Seiros stood in the door frame, blood dripping from her blade, and Edelgard could see the realization in the eyes of the guards. They had failed. The force had thrown caution to the wind and forced their way into the dungeon from above because they could not pass the Major Crest bearing warrior guarding the choke point of the stairwell. And Seiros stood in the doorway once again where their only option was to face her one on one. 

Seiros slammed down yet another spell and a massive pillar of ice sprung from the floor, tearing through the armor of those at the periphery with an ear grating shriek, blood dying the outer surface red in streaks. And those at the center of the spell - were trapped, bodies frozen within the center of the ice structure. It was a shining, glimmering monument of death and destruction. Most importantly - it sealed the group off from the horde on the other side of the ice. 

"Edelgard keep helping your brother back to the cell. We are now leaving." Seiros instructed, wiping her newest stolen sword along her shirt as if to clean it. Edelgard could not imagine the attempt working - the woman was liberally soaked with blood. 

Edelgard nodded in thanks when Seiros lit up the darkness with the flickering flame once more. 

For a much too short while the group traveled with the clank of Edelgard's chains, the thump of feet and their breathing the only sounds. And then they heard the noise that they had all been listening for - the charge of feet. 

"If you would continue leading everyone Edelgard," Seiros said - before the sound of screaming metal filled the passage. As one the group turned to see what new monstrosity was behind them. It was Seiros tearing a door off its hinges, flickering flames escaping past her fisted fingers even as she pulled. The woman smiled before turning in time to smash the door into the face of the leading guard. 

That was the only reminder the group needed - they hurried down the passage with the sound of metal clattering behind them competing with screams of pain. 

"Goddess protect us!" A guard shouted behind them, fear deeply dyed in his voice. Edelgard twisted in time to see Seiros launch the metal door through the air. It flew, knocking multiple guards down, to land oddly, the angle blocking the passage partially. 

Edelgard felt herself smile. She suspected it was the same broad menacing expression Seiros herself bore. 

Just a little farther and they would be free. The group tripped over the second guard, then the first. Seiros tore off another door from its hinges, and Edelgard knew the guards saw it because the sound of the charge froze. And while the sound of the second door's flight was still echoing through the stone passageway - her cell came into view. 

Balthasar and Edelgard stepped aside, letting Selene guide Eliza first through the doorway and then down through the dark passageway that smelled like fresh air instead of the dungeon rot. Seiros was behind them, the air blisteringly hot as she welded the door into place. As Edelgard and Balthasar began to travel down the corridor Edelgard looked behind them to see Seiros placing another sheet of ice behind the door. And then darkness enclosed them with the sound of shifting stone, and then something cracking. After the following silence there was the blue glow of an ice spell, silhouetting Seiros's form. Again, and again - a chill filling the air as Seiros slowly followed them through the passage. 

Seiros was filling the entire passage with ice. They would not be followed through whatever passage they were in. Edelgard grinned in the darkness, and felt Balthasar grip her arm tightly in agreement. Beneath their feet the passage began to slope upwards. And at the far end, Eliza and Selene stood next to a travel pack and a sheathed sword, moonlight filtering in from somewhere above. 

Edelgard helped her brother walk those last few steps before he could just sit upon a pew. 

Well that explained where they were - Edelgard looked up to the rafters of the building, not needing to see the statues or the artwork to know exactly where they were. They were in the Church of Seiros, _the_ Church of Seiros - the oldest church within Enbarr, within Fódlan, older than even Garreg Mach Monastery. Selene and Eliza came up next to them and Edelgard just breathed. They were all alive. 

Edelgard smiled, looking around at her family - feeling a weight fall off her shoulders. They still needed to get outside of the city, but she had her siblings, she was outside away from the scent of rot and death. And they were escaping.


	3. Sáinnigh

1\. Verb - To Ensnare  
2\. Verb - To Corner  
3\. Verb - To Trap  
4\. Verb - (Chess) To Check

* * *

  
Some days stretch on so long that they never end.  
  
Dorothea had spent many, many nights watching the moon and stars traverse the night sky only to greet the sun come dawn. Even before she was brought to the Mittelgard Opera Company, Dorothea had spent many hours sitting upright in the darkness, listening to footsteps, their owners wafting alcohol, some stumbling, some looking for prey. Waiting for the footsteps to fade so she could dart away to a different den under the cover of starlight. And after - the Mittelgard Company was an acting troupe - their coin was what the audience paid for seats. And the nobility of Enbarr, the ones with the most coin to spend, insisted that performances be done after their evening meals. Which meant that when the show as always went on, it went on well past the setting of the sun most days. And that was before one considered the... ancillary activities, the long obligatory cast parties hosted by the nobles proclaiming their patronage to the arts happy to host until dawn, as they were not the ones having to wake up the next day to run the show the next night.  
  
Though ancillary activities could also be distinctly less enjoyable than a party, Dorothea reflected as she opened the window to reveal the deep dark black blue night sky. The full moon hanging in the air acted as an ethereal lantern over the capital of Adrestia. The stars, ghostly dust upon the dark expanse, glittered like ground quartz spread upon a painted canvas of Enbarr, Seiros' ancient city. The heavenly bodies were frequent witnesses to the after hour social... _antics_.  
  
Such as kidnappings.  
  
It had taken hours and an entire wet rehearsal, a complete opera performance complete with intermission and an afterparty, for the hirelings to finally drink themselves into a stupor. Dorothea had been certain that the entire endeavor was Wallis again from the start - the lout was stingy with coin when hiring his thugs and the spirits his men had been drinking had been mostly water and aspirational thoughts of alcohol. The upstart competitor to Mittelgard had also been blatantly certain with his decision to have his company try and compete with Mittelgard on opening night.  
  
Well - the joke was on him Dorothea reminded herself as she dropped her heeled sandals out the window. Even if Cassandra had to stand in for her tonight, the bastard's penny pinching ways had cost him far more than gold.  
  
Dorothea smiled to herself, double checking to make sure the letter the ringleader had dropped was secured before she began climbing down the stone rain downpipe. No one ever remembered to ask who Dorothea had been before she'd appeared onstage with the Mittlegard Company half a decade before. Actual pickpocketing Dorothea had never acquired any great skill in but, like the ability to clamber down the buildings of Enbarr with any vertical purchase available, one did not forget how to snatch invaluable objects, food, or a handful of coins without being noticed by a drunken oaf.  
  
One hand beneath the other Dorothea lowered herself down, distinctly feeling like a sandbag being winched down when the rigging was half a minute from failing entirely. Her feet braced upon the pipe in the fear of her hands slipping upon the cool water collecting upon the stone in the night. She sighed in relief when her feet reached the cobbled street.  
  
Then the star of Mittelgard pulled her sandals back on and started the long, cold walk to the Mittelgard Opera House. She could sleep on one of the prop beds safely there anyways. She needed to give Wallis' letter to the company so that they could decide whether they wanted to blackmail him, hand it over to the guards with a sizable _donation_ attached to spur the force to actually act for once, or let it be known to one of the patrons of their company.  
  
Dorothea shivered and not from the cold. The lords and - no, it would be the lords given Wallis' standing with the merchants - most likely to press the guard into action were also the ones that Dorothea found most odious in their attention. Dorothea sighed, halting in the shadows to let a bumbling gaggle of drunks pass without seeing her. She missed Manuela dearly. Her mentor and inspiration may have drank more than was healthy, much more, but the older opera star had consistently and effectively redirected unwelcome leers away from Dorothea.  
  
The woman also would have noticed Dorothea having gone missing in the afternoon and probably would have been haraunging her for going off to the Aubin Marketplace by herself sometime shortly before the show was supposed to start. With those old memories swirling in her mind, and a rehearsal of her opening song quietly on her lips Dorothea kept walking. Until the night went berserk.  
  
From a distance, at first, Dorothea could hear squealing screams, and then the yowls of cats next to the furious barking of hounds. And then the first yells of sheer disgust and panic. Dorothea turned, following the clamor - and felt her eyes widen. A wave of brown was rushing towards her, a river of furry bodies and rat tails flowing as if it'd overfilled its banks. Dorothea jumped up and grabbed hold of a storefront shutter - letting the scampering and squalling horde of rats scamper beneath her.  
  
All around her the city came alive in noise as the rats raced out in a mass exodus from where they hid. Dorothea smelt rot and decay off the stampeding mob as the rats simply ran away from the center of the city. And as suddenly as it began the noises disappeared, swallowed by the night and distance. Dorothea slowly lowered herself back down from the store shutter. Some trampled rats twitched, dying, on the cobblestones.  
  
Dorothea stared at where the surviving horde had disappeared into the night streets of Enbarr. Then the opera singer turned to look towards where the heart of the city resided, imagining the ancient market squares that rooted the capital of Adrestia as they had for over a thousand years. "I owe Alia three gold saffrons - the Alchemist guild _is_ sneaking experiments back into their administrative building." Dorothea rubbed her temple, feeling a premonition of all the incoming headaches approach. There was very good cause for the truce called by all the shopkeepers and proprietors of the central plaza - random explosions at all hours poured ice water upon profits.  
  
Dorothea would have to visit the guild's buildings in the south west quarter of the city - rat repellent capable of living up to the grandest legends of Saint Cichol and his band routing bandits was worth its weight in gold.  
  
In that spirit of appreciation and long earned wariness Dorothea was not surprised when she heard the first explosion. The sound was the single blow of the bass drum, low and loud. The type of sound that even so far away Dorothea could imagine the rumble of vibration from years of the explosions going off across the square during rehearsals - despite how the noise was off. The Alchemist's Guild for once in centuries was actually attempting to be subtle. The boom itself felt rather low compared to the usual champagne cork launching of sound for the entire city to hear.  
  
It was when Dorothea saw the flickers of light, glaring flashes of color at home on a traveling magician's stage when he threw down powder, that she realized that no it was not the Alchemist's Guild. Not when brilliant bleeding blood and garish gaudy gold glinted from the royal palace windows in waves of light.  
  
The explosions were a timpani and bass duet - the deepest and most fearsome duet Dorothea had ever heard. She stepped backwards into the sheltering shadow of a city elder made of stone and mortar, eyes fastened at the sparking embers of light that popped up from the far off palace. The sightless bass explosions accented a stacatoed triplet of colors, coming down heavily upon the downbeat. A twisted vamp Dorothea realized, the measure of explosions repeating and accelerating. A holding pattern until the dance, the song, the performance was to begin.  
  
A performance that Dorothea did not know the script of except that the show upon the stage in the palace should not be playing. The thought full of dread kept pace with the ever accelerating tempo of the explosions. Something had gone horribly wrong and everyone would be paying for it.  
  
And as suddenly as the explosions began they halted. A curtain being dropped when the entire audience had already seen the devastating accident. Dorothea breathed out, waiting for whether the lightshow would begin once more. A minute passed and Dorothea waited no longer to start moving. When the hammer of the nobles came down Dorothea intended to be outside of its shadow.  
  
The Insurrection of the Seven was years past now - but Dorothea still remembered. The murmurs throughout Enbarr when Vestra's heir was not presented as a retainer for Emperor Ionius the IX's chosen heir, nor for a child matching the heir's age, but for one of the most junior of the princesses - and the only one with the Crest of Seiros the whispers said when shadows hid their faces. Talk in the taverns whether the Emperor was a fool or not in daring to unbind the royal line from the crests. Of whether he was weakening Adrestia or strengthening it.  
  
She remembered how the ground underneath everyone's feet slowly shifted, never one single moment when the noble houses of the land conclusively seized power. The slow change in the livery of the guards from the red and black of Hresvelg to a nauseating swarm of colors and emblems as different nobles patronized the guardhouses. Different swaths of the city where the priorities of the guard shifted by which noble house paid for the uniform. Some areas retained order, and others where signs were placed in windows declaring patronage of the nearest guardhouse. And other areas where it was not the businesses that found it in their hearts to donate.  
  
Last time, the coup of the House Hresvelg was the lords of the realm inviting themselves to the palace and sitting down to dinner uninvited. It was silent. Coin switching hands underneath tables. The blood spilled carefully hidden in back alleys and the dead or missing marked only by lonely posters of crown loyalists. Last time the coup had passed in silence, the same as how the power in Adrestia exchanged hands.  
  
This time the exchange of power was not silent. The blasts of sound and light crashing through the city from the palace screamed for all with eyes and ears that someone had come for House Hresvelg.  
  
Dorothea wove through the back streets in her rush to the opera house. The main roads were more direct but when the guards throughout the city finally roused themselves the city's forces would flood the wide flat stones of the central streets. Dorothea preferred her chances of avoiding attention on the crooked gray cobblestones of the alleyways. The guards when the call went out would not discriminate between those they found outdoors.  
  
All too soon, the safety of the opera house still far too distant, the drums and bugles blared, signals blasting across the city for the guard. Dorothea pressed herself into a dark shadow as the clatter of guards rambled past her current side street. Through the darkness of the night pinpricks of red and yellow came into focus. The slumber of the city disturbed, dreamers roused from their sleep lighting candles.  
  
Already Dorothea could hear the shattering of glass as the looting started.  
  
The singer gritted her teeth, slowing to a careful tread as she continued forward. The quickest route home not about to be swarming with guards was forward. And she needed to be indoors before the reflected light of steel blades began to swarm the secondary streets.  
  
Dorothea pushed forward, closer to the sound of a door being slammed through. The alley ahead was narrow but had a side passage she needed, it would take all of moments for her to pass the thugs. Dorothea tugged off her sandals, shoving her left forearm between the ankle straps and soles. Her heels were stylish but the extra height was an impediment to speed.  
  
The familiar feeling of sharp stones searching for blood, the chill of the night stealing away her warmth, the nearly imperceptible layer of dew slicking her feet... Dorothea felt her past claw at her. Whispering that the streets remembered her, and were waiting for her to return.  
  
Dorothea shook her head and stalked forward, hearing the tromp of footsteps and smelling the filth of someone long past due for a washing. Holding her breath, Dorothea peered around the corner - and blinked in surprise.  
  
Outside of a side apothecary four figures leaned upon the windows, exhausted, filthy and ragged. Wraiths of the night, they were so pale in the moonlight. The tallest, a young adult male leaned on one of his fellows and the windows almost desperately, pants reaching to just above his knees, tattered, ripped and barely preserving his dignity. The rips in his threadbare shirt exposing ribs. The only clothing that was intact was a pair of boots obviously made for a soul without skeletal ankles and calves. Made for someone without a leg that appeared withered in contrast to an already starved body.  
  
Gripping his hand was a much smaller child, barefoot. Her dress was someone’s much larger shirt, a slit in the side revealing the filthy clothing underneath. Beneath a rat's nest of knots made of stringy, clumped hair two eyes watched the street. Red infected welts swelled upon one cheek, more angry red streaking down one arm, around her toes shivering in the cold.  
  
To the young girl's other side was an seemingly old woman, hair thin with patches of her scalp showing. A band of cloth was tied over her eyes, and a yellow something covered a gash upon one arm. Her ensemble of tattered clothing showed attempts at repair, a torn flaps of a shoulder tied together. The starvation granted extra cloth used to preserve modesty by pulling rips together in knots. Her boots were such a brilliant liquid red that Dorothea looked down the street, looking for red paint marking footsteps.  
  
And the last half leaned upon a bloody ax, the weapon's head planted upon the street. Her clothing was slightly less ragged, somewhat newer. The blood that acted as a nightmarish accent to the front of her shirt and dyed her toes made up for it. She was the one that supported her brother. And Dorothea knew that they were siblings. She knew their faces.  
  
They were four scions of Hresvelg. Within the city and not fighting off the red fever in a country villa. The night grew colder as the moon smiled a mocking grin down on Dorothea - there had never been an outbreak at all.  
  
The wielder of the bloody ax's head jerked upwards, squinting eyes catching sight of Dorothea. "Seiros," the girl cursed, "Someone is out here." A figure appeared from the shattered doorway of the apothecary - throwing a laden satchel over her shoulder as she strode out. A sword's hilt gleamed at her side, silver bright and seemingly hewn from the very moonlight shining down from above. But Dorothea's eyes were riveted to the blood.  
  
The woman wore a tapestry of death - red soaking her shirt so thoroughly that Dorothea did not know what the original color was. Brilliant scarlet gilded the ends of the woman's sleeves - darkening to a river of burgundy wine with watered down banks that twined up her arms like twisted seams sewn by the deranged.  
  
Death left a clear outline of where the woman slammed her body to cause pain - her knees dyed black, with red bleeding out to the rest of the garment in streaks and splatters.  
  
But nowhere in the gore soaked ensemble was there a single tear. And the blood that clung down the woman’s hands and wrists before disappearing under her sleeves, gluing strands of hair to one cheek, the streak upon the lenses of glasses - _none was hers._  
  
Dorothea froze, a deer caught in the gaze of a hunter as the specter of death's eyes pinned her - weighing her like a massive predator pondering a mouthful of a morsel. The woman looked towards the ax wielder - Edelgard, Edelgard von Hresvelg Dorothea realized recognizing the girl's drawn and thin face. Edelgard merely nodded to the warrior while stepping in front of her siblings, ax readied.  
  
Dorothea stepped backwards, pressing into the cool stone walls, showing her empty hands. The blood covered woman inhaled thoughtfully before smiling, a slit of teeth that glinted in the moonlight. "You should -" The being began. Not local, Dorothea found herself thinking, automatically attempting to place the unfamiliar accent before a terrifyingly strong grip yanked her forward, thrusting her towards the scions of Hresvelg. Dorothea curled into the ball as she began to fall, the motion turning her in time to see the nameless warrior drawing her blade. Only then did Dorothea hear the growing thunder of armored boots.  
  
Destiny turns on the barest whims of luck. On choices selected without knowledge of the curves and bends thrown into life's path by that choice. Dorothea began to rise, to run, to flee, pushing herself off the cobbled stone when the youngest of the Hresvelg heirs began to fall, tripping over her own feet, arms windmilling as she attempted to regain her balance. Twisted and guaranteed to break something upon impact with the unforgiving streets.  
  
Dorothea should have ran, away from the fight approaching with the jangle of metal rushing closer, away from the knowledge of what was happening that night. Away from the hammer whistling down through the air as it fell upon the city.  
  
But - the stones of the street clung to her feet, calling for her to remember them. Once there was a girl, barefooted and cold in the night wandering Enbarr's streets - ignored. There still was a girl, dirty and scared and hurt. The girl's older brother reached for her, too slow, too clumsy with his weak leg. The blind one was on the wrong side and supporting him. And Edelgard von Hresvelg too far away, ax still held in position.  
  
Dorothea should have ran. Instead she dove, cushioning the fall to the street with her body. What were a few more bruises and scratches to an old street rat? Seconds spent, seconds given away - a thrown pebble turned landslide in the flow of the river of her life.  
  
The soldiers arrived with a clatter, the warrior woman grasping the lead most figure to fling into a storefront - glass shattering with the thud of stone in the figure's flight. The new arrivals halted in a semicircle marking the end of the silver blade's reach. Guards wearing the black and grey of House Vestra.  
  
"Well boys," the guard with gold gleaming from his shoulder announced, "I do believe the payday is ours."  
  
"Confident aren't you." The swordswoman replied, rolling her shoulders as more of the group pressed behind their fellows. Dorothea helped the small girl to her feet, no it couldn't be Varris, Varris was the youngest but he was the lastborn son.  
  
"We are the ones that found the golden goose lass," the guard captain answered, Dorothea hearing the leer in his voice. "And despite the leader of your plan deciding to split up, so many little decoys to draw us away, his gambit failed." The smug confidence of the man was not universally shared, his fellows maintaining great care in staying out of reach of the unwavering blade and looked to where their dying comrade whimpered in pain piteously.  
  
"Indeed, Lord Vestra will be quite pleased with your service Captain Talos." A silky voice answered, the group parting to reveal a woman dressed in the livery of House Vestra. Melody Baline - a respected war mage in service to the Vestra family. The mage in long, flowing decorated robes traced a hand delicately upon Talos' arm. "You found all four of the scions, and will be rewarded beyond measure for dispatching both of the witnesses."  
  
All too late Dorothea remembered why the woman was instantly recognizable to her when the mage's eyes drifted to her. "A pity, I did enjoy Mittelfrank's performances." Dorothea paled, Melody Baline was paid handsomely to be a retainer of the Vestra family and spent much of the coin enjoying the various arts of the city. The woman was a regular at the opera house - and knew Dorothea's face.  
  
"Well then," the blindfolded Hresvelg muttered low enough that only the closely grouped ragged clothed royals and Dorothea could hear, "welcome to our sorry rabble. I believe you will have already realized this but I doubt you are going to be able to go home." The blind woman smiled grimly at Dorothea - or tried to as she looked instead somewhere over Dorothea's right shoulder. Back and forth challenges carried on between the gore soaked defender and the guard captain.  
  
Dorothea silently nodded, before realizing her mistake. "I'll be glad if that is a problem." The pack of armed soldiers bristled with weapons even as they waited for the order from their leader to charge. Wary as the men appeared to be of the group's bloody defender, sheer numbers appeared ready to overwhelm the woman who only had the thin Edelgard as support. Even for a woman capable of throwing a man through a wall borne of stone bricks.  
  
"They're bunched up." Edelgard said firmly, not looking away from the brewing confrontation ahead of them. Dorothea glanced at the princess' back - for all the odds against them the girl was confident.  
  
"Who are they?" The blind one asked, staring at the group as if her blindfold would disappear if only she stared long enough. "Mercenaries?"  
  
"No Eliza, guardsmen." The brother put in.  
  
"Whose, Balthizar?" Eliza grumbled out.  
  
"Vestra," Edelgard answered for her brother.  
  
The group went silent again as a chuckling laugh stole out from Melody. "Oh Talos, you will have to visit me tomorrow after Lord Vestra rewards you." The woman turned to leave - and quick as a whip the group's guardian thrusted her blade towards the unguarded back. A shout went up as one of the guards pulled the mage back as another stepped forward to parry the blow. A ringing sound echoed in the alleyway - and then a bloody gurgle. The woman stepped back and let the corpse slump to the uncaring stones below. Somehow Dorothea knew that only the discipline of the guards and the promise of Vestran retribution kept the force from breaking.  
  
"Melody," Talos said at last. "You should leave." The mage woman ran down the alleyways as if Vestran cut throats were at her heels. The group's guardian remained in a ready position, blood dripping off the tip of her sword. The viscous red splattered upon the ground like the first droplets of rain in a storm. Dorothea noticed that the guards had taken a step back.  
  
"You may run," the reaper of lives offered, her accent surely from a land forgotten, from a valley of death.  
  
In the judgement of the moon and stars seconds passed by, the late fall wind whipping through the streets of Enbarr as the offer drifted through the air. Dorothea watched as two of the hindmost guards looked behind them as if wishing to take the proffered salvation. But none moved until the guards captain raised his sword. "Forward!" The word roared forward, charging ahead of the blade thrusted in command.  
  
It was the last word of a love struck fool, a trumpet of delusion, the death knell of men.  
  
The warrior woman slashed the air with her free hand - two spears of ice forming and launching into the charge in the space between breaths. There was no room for the guards to dodge and the projectiles slammed through three - impaling them into the building behind. One writhed helplessly upon the wall, still alive even as his life blood leaked away from the bolt of ice impaling him through his shoulder.  
  
The sound of metal screaming froze the men for half a heartbeat only - but a half a heartbeat too long. The blood soaked woman slashed the hamstrings of one of the survivors, before wrenching a sword from another's hand to impale through his throat.  
  
The four guards still upright converged upon her, too late. Too slow. One of the cracked stone bricks rested near the blood wraith's bare feet - and with a crack it rocked off the newly dented greave of the captain. He went down with a cry while one of his men darted forward in a desperate slash, believing to have the Hresvelg reaper’s back. With one hand she caught his sword without looking - holding him back as she riposted off one strike to sink her sword under another's arm to sink home into their heart.  
  
Desperate the last standing man slashed at her face. The woman ducked to the side, letting go of her own sword, whipping the man behind her into his captain while his hand broke with a crack - leaving her with his sword. In retaliation she backfisted the still standing guard through his helmet. He stepped back dazed - reacting too late to the blade shoved through his breastplate and out his back, the sword mangled.  
  
The guard with a broken hand ran - fleeing past the corpses of his brethren, past the man with the ruined hamstrings upon the ground. Leaving the bloody reaper with Captain Talos of Vestran employ. The guard captain tried to stand, waving his blade desperately through the air. The woman kicked his injured leg and reached down to grasp his chin. With a single fluid motion Talos stilled, never to move again.  
  
“Thank you.” Balthizar said at last to Dorothea as he took his younger sister’s hand. Dorothea realized that she’d never let go of the girl.  
  
Edelgard turned to look at her, bringing the stained ax to rest on one shoulder. “Do you have anywhere to hide outside of the city?” The princess asked bluntly.  
  
“Outside of _Adrestia_ ,” muttered Eliza darkly, her head turned towards the bodies as if she could see the colors of House Vestra.  
  
“One - but I’ll never make it before Vestra finds me.” Dorothea laughed bitter and despairing - the reality of the situation settling deep in her bones. The only person she knew that well outside of Adrestia was Manuela - who might as well be as far away as the stars and moon in Garreg Mach Monastery. Far past the horizon - past Fort Merceus, nestled deep in the Oghma range. And the Vestran reputation was well earned.  
  
"You will be traveling with us then," Edelgard declared as if the choice was made. Dorothea blinked, "Don't you have to discuss that with-"  
  
A sudden scream cut short drew the entire group's attention - in time to see the still nameless warrior woman step away from the stake of ice in the hamstrung guard's neck. "Who is there to discuss it with, if you and they are willing?" The woman asked, walking towards the guard twitching upon the wall without a single glance back. With a flash there was just another corpse in the already corpse strewn alley.  
  
"Seiros," Edelgard swore again, under her breath. Balthizar merely nodded while Eliza took firm hold of the youngest's hand.  
  
"Who is she?" Dorothea asked at last, pulling Balthizar's arm over her shoulders - nodding towards the warrior dragging her sword out of one of the guardsmen. Edelgard walked forward over the bodies to confer with the woman in question.  
  
The man chuckled weakly in her ear, Dorothea feeling the shakiness of his feet. "Good question... We don't know."  
  
“You don’t know?” Dorothea responded incredulously as they walked after the champion of House Hresvelg.  
  
“It’s been a rather long night,” Balthizar informed her - his cheer strained as his leg attempted to buckle beneath him. “She showed up, we broke out - so far following her has worked out.” The man lowered his voice, “I don’t even know where we are heading right now.”  
  
“To the canal.” Seiros said, pulling up to a street, glancing back and forth before waving the group forward. “There’s a passage to the undercity there that all of you will be able to navigate and it will buy us time and get us past the checkpoints out of the city.”  
  
The woman then looked up, staring at a rooftop. “You can come out now little one.” The group as one froze as a small and slight figure dropped to the ground. The blood soaked figure smiled, a terrifying look of exasperation, “Well Petra Macneary, why are you out here with the wolves tonight of all nights?"  
  
The girl squared her shoulders, meeting the crimson gaze and sharp toothed smile. Behind her Dorothea and Hresvelg scions looked between themselves. They all knew the name Petra Macneary. The "diplomatic envoy" - a fancy title for political hostage - sent by Brigid in the aftermath of the latest invasion turned war only the previous year.  
  
"Who?" Eliza muttered. Correction, _Dorothea_ knew who Petra Macneary was. "Brighid hostage of the ro-" Dorothea paused, realizing her mistake. Petra Macneary hadn't been a hostage of the royal house - the royal house hadn't controlled Adrestia for years. The group however ignored her misstep and nodded in understanding.  
  
"There was a…” The girl paused searching for the words. “A commotion tonight at the palace. I chose not to wait to be made out to be the… scapegoat." Dorothea looked at the ragged forms surrounding her, remembering the blazing lights from the palace. No such lie would survive long. Dorothea looked again at the much smaller girl with her foreign coloration and a tattoo under one eye. But the truth did not bring back the dead.  
  
The warrior woman exchanged an unreadable glance with Edelgard. The young scion tilted her head to one side, quietly waiting.  
  
The bloody woman rubbed her nose with a sigh, bumping into the bridge of her glasses, as if tired. "You might as well fall in, what’s one more _teifeach_ now?” The last half Dorothea knew was a question not meant for them.  
  
The strange figure looked to the sky as if the moon and stars would answer her questions, breathed out to an early winter breeze.  
  
_Cad é lachín amhin eile?_


	4. Giall

1\. Noun - Hostage

2\. Noun - (Human) Pledge

* * *

  
Petra never slept soundly in the stone monstrosity of a palace in Enbarr. The wind was denied passage through the building. The roar of the sea too far to hear. The scent of salt was only a dream.

It had only been months since she had sailed from Brigid, sailed alone except for Lord Gerth and Adrestian soldiers as her escort.

Petra tossed in the wrong bed, the blankets and mattress different and _off_. She missed her grandfather. She missed her father.

It had only been months but her dreams of home felt worn, the details disappearing, faded like colored fabric left out too long in the summer sun. Mere months into a possible lifetime in a gilded cage.

Petra had still been small enough for her _ama_ to carry her on his shoulders without a care in the world as they went down to the docks together one last time. The sea waters had been a crystal blue, the afternoon sun glinting off the waves lightly lapping on the hulls of the strange Dagdan war vessels.The ships with hulls arching high out of the water, curving into the sky.

The most massive of the foreign ships had iron layered upon the wood. All had solid sails, wooden partitions holding the fabric out even in the currently light breeze. The Dagdan fleet seemed to dare the sea to take them for the weight.

Her grandfather had stood in front of the assembled Brigid fleet, karakoas and lanongs lean and low in the rolling waters. Already the warriors were boarding, weapons tied down for the journey. Petra’s father swept her from his shoulders to give her a fierce hug that squeezed her ribs. Then her father, the brave heir to her grandfather, a prince and warrior to his people, lifted his shield high in the air. The gathered forces roared - their assault began now. With the amassed might of Brigid and Dagda in alliance how could they fail?

Far, far away in the Adrestian palace Petra bowed her head as she remembered the discussions her grandfather and father had once had. The Fódlan people as a group were never particularly united, not in all the recorded history of Brigid with their closest neighbors across the sea.

First Faerghus had split from Adrestia. Then the future Leicester region had split only to be absorbed by Faerghus to rebel again later. It had been little surprise when the coup had launched inside Adrestia - the nobility of Fódlan had a long and storied history of successful rebellion.

It had been an opportunity for Brigid - while the old and powerful nation across the sea recovered from the wounds it had opened upon its own flank - to break the iron grip upon sea trade that Adrestian had held for untold generations. For Dagda it was an opportunity to address old grievances from previous imperial ventures.

Petra had sat on her father's lap as he and Grandfather opened up the sea charts and maps of the far off land that she had never seen, talking late into the night as Petra fell asleep lulled by her father’s heartbeat. Adrestia zealously guarded their capital and the coastline immediately surrounding it. The map of the Adrestian's southern coastline had swarmed with the wooden naval replicas embossed with the double headed eagle. The northern coastline however...

Petra gave up trying to sleep and just stared at the stone ceiling above her, tracing the coast land of Adrestia north of Fódlan's Fangs in her mind's eye.

The plan had been simple - to begin with darting raids upon the northernmost regions of Adrestia, the territories of Gerth and Nuvelle, and other minor lordships therein. The characteristic disunity of Fódlan would lead to the other noble houses turning a blind eye to the raids until and unless an event of significant magnitude to their holdings or pocketbooks occurred. At which point it would be too late, the combined landing forces of Dagda and Brigid already onshore through the weakened defenses. A plan that had proven to overlook its own flaws.

From the far side of a lost war Petra heard her grandfather's concerns once more.

Adrestia was known for using armored brigades as a slow moving anvil to the hammer of a complement of magic casters. It was a different type of magic than that of Brigid's shaman but proven effective for over a millennium. Once the invasion force landed, her grandfather had warned, their people's traditional evasive tactics would be hampered.

It was one thing to pull back to the ships and dart to the safety of the shallows where the deep keeled Fódlan vessels could not follow. To slip over reefs and through narrow passages back to the open sea where Brigid ships could outpace the slow Adrestian war fleet.

It was entirely another to hold territory until the Dagdan forces were rooted upon the mainland like a mangoko tree. Adrestia was an ancient land of over a thousand years and every acre of lost land had been lost to rebellions. Not once in all of Fódlan’s history had a conquering force retained lands taken from Adrestia.

Petra remembered her _ama's_ confident grin as he looked to Grandfather. "I have a plan." He had stated with calm faith as he Petra tried to braid his hair, the same muted violet as hers.

And oh what a plan it had been to Petra sitting on her father’s lap. It was from one of her elders' tales of heroes of old. To steal into the lands of powerful but _arrogant_ Adrestia. Striking forward in raids, daring Adrestia to catch the Brigid warrior prince and his hand chosen men before disappearing back into the fields and forests like the surf retreating from the beach only to surge again. To be the shadow slipping around the door, the wind whipping through a torn sail, the laughter of the uncatchable tide. It was a principle that Petra had been taught well - even the strongest man in the world cannot harm you if he could not catch you.

At the start the strategy worked, news of victories brought home by messengers and letters sent from the front, as well as the gossip carried on the ocean's breath. The Brigid forces were a slippery eel, biting deep into the northern holdings of Adrestia before wiggling back into the safety of shadowy waters. And behind the strike force Dagdan archers and swordsmen swarmed up the beaches, cliffs and rock shores, lightly armored in comparison to the Adrestians but fast and lithe.

The ships carrying news had been triumphant - the strategy of raids, of darting away before the might of the Adrestian provinces could arrive, _worked_. And ever so slowly the Dagdan forces were taking over the coastline.

The youths waiting to join the battle had grinned to one another, proud to be on the cusp of being the ones to defeat the old kingdom who had controlled the sea trade far longer than living memory. Those who had argued and petitioned Brigid's king to take the chance of the Dagdan alliance, to be the staging ground for finally cracking open Adrestia's vice grip...

It was only after that Petra remembered those who had frowned, who'd argued against. Who had reminded all that there was reason for why Adrestia was known as an ancient kingdom. That the oldest kingdom of Fódlan had survived long enough to be known as such despite rebellions, despite its own failings.

Months passed - and Nuvelle fell. And the war turned against them.

The Wave Dancer limped back to the harbor, one stabilizing outrider missing, sails torn and ashen, tips blackened. And everyone remembered why Adrestia ruled the seas.

Adrestia was massive, formed by large and expansive plains broken up by multiple ranges of towering peaks. The same mountains and sheer size that made the land so difficult to attack and devilish to conquer were near impossible to traverse quickly. The composition of Adrestia’s forces of heavy armor and elemental mages were also uniquely predisposed _against_ swift deployments.

But oh, was there cause for why the cavalry charges of Faerghus broke upon the gleaming armored lines of Adrestia. Why the swift archers of Leicester were forced from cover by the blasting of elemental mages. For when the Adrestian military marched - the very earth trembled.

The nobles ceased their bickering after the fall of Nuvelle. Petra’s father tarried too long, failing to retreat before the slow moving force reached the combined might of Dagda and Brigid. Forces were drawn from the Brionac rivers, the Faerghus-Adrestia border and from the reserves in central Adrestia.

The Brigid and Dagdan forces were quick, they were strong - but the Adrestian lines of armor stood resolute and seemingly unbreakable as they advanced day by day. The stories returned over the waves of long nights in the dark as the Adrestian mages hammered hastily created fortifications. The flashes of deadly magic revealing where the long lines of armored sentinels stood. And Petra’s _ama_ refused to fall back.

When the lumbering Adrestian navy encircled the combined force from the sea it was over. The stories brought home by survivors and the released captured were of her father leading the charge to break through the enemy lines to escape down the coast, to commandeer and steal ships to retreat home.

A hundred or more died to her father’s axe as he tore through the lines, the spear point of that bloody and desperate charge. A charge that ended when he faced Count Bergliez, commander of Adrestia’s military. Petra’s father died on the battlefield far from home.

Everything after Petra knew. The surviving uncaptured Dagdan forces fled home, over the waves and away from the reach of Adrestia. Brigid was left alone, abandoned by her erstwhile ally. Her navy crippled with the majority of her ships burning or captured. When the ultimatum arrived Petra’s grandfather had not argued, despite the protests and calls for Brigid to fight to the last.

Petra could still see the Prime Minister Aegir walk proudly into her grandfather’s throne room - and her grandfather as calm and with as much dignity as he could muster kneeling before the worm of a man. The coward quickly departed, leaving Lord Gerth to finalize the terms of Brigid’s unconditional surrender and impending vassaldom to Adrestia.

Petra stood up from the suddenly unfamiliar bed, giving up on sleep. Outside the lavish bedroom apartment in the Enbarr palace there were two guards she knew, just as beyond the balcony connected to her rooms there were more guards out of sight, hidden in the gardens. A luxurious cage, as long as Petra ignored the whispers and not so whispered insults ever in earshot.

In the months of her imprisonment Petra had occasionally been taken out into the capital proper. A spectacle to be gawked at by the citizenry, always hearing a foreign tongue and never her own.

It had not escaped her notice that her ventures out of confinement were predominantly and near exclusively at the behest of Prime Minister Aegir, upon visits from various officials. She was a totem of Adrestia’s might, that despite the recent changes that Adrestia was still a force to be reckoned with. It was a pattern of behavior Brigid was well aware of.

The side effect of being the closest kingdom to Adrestia besides its own two former territories was that Brigid had always suffered the consequences of Adrestia seeking to comfort its bruised pride. Petra smiled darkly to herself, remembering her tutors and her own studies back home. Despite all the power and the wealth of Fódlan’s southernmost power, Adrestia had never been able to bring either Faerghus or Leicester to heel once the territories had broken away.

Petra dressed, hefting an imaginary ax as she fell into her forms. A deep historical irony was that when the lands which later became the Leicester Alliance broke free _Faerghus_ had been able to forcibly anex the territories for decades.

Petra swung her training weapon of air as if to pull down a shield. Adrestia never took losing Faerghus nor Leicester well. Even now one could hear the desire in Count Bergliez’s voice to _reconsolidate_ the two separate kingdoms under Adrestia’s banner upon his visits to the capital - the rare times he visited Enbarr versus Aegir lands.

Petra blocked an imaginary blow. The subjugation of Brigid had wetted the Adrestian appetite for conquering Petra knew. If not for the fierce independence of Faerghus and the implicit disapproval of the Church of Seiros the “hypotheticals” from Count Bergliez would be both louder and all _but_ hypothetical.

Petra ducked, not able to throw herself into a roll and grimaced at her faulty recovery. An axe was not suited for drawing across hamstrings - not even imaginary ones. Privately Petra was suspicious that the Leicester Alliance had emboldened the Adrestian nobles when they had not reacted to…

Petra wiped her brow trying to recall the name. Cord, no. Ordon? Ah - Ordelia. That was the name. Count Bergliez was adamant in his discussions with Vestra and Aegir when she was shown off that the Adrestian military could hold the territory. One occasion Vestra smiled and commented consideringly: “We did _remove_ most of their officials so reincorporating the land would be simple on an administrative level.”

Ultimately Petra suspected the only reason preventing Adrestia from acting somewhere on the continent was the Church of Seiros’ historical stance against reincorporation. Though Petra was aware of her ignorance of the religious organization. Brigid had not had sustained direct contact with the Church of Seiros in generations. After Adrestia took over the organizational hierarchy of the faith the Church’s famous disinterest in matters outside of Fódlan took effect and even prior to the disbandment of the Church’s Adrestian branch the contact had been scarce according to historical records.

Outside, down the long hallway to the door of the suite of rooms, Petra heard a shout. Instantly she darted to the entrance way separating her rooms from the palace proper on silent feet. Feet stolen from under the trees of Brigid.

As if pulling up on a hunt’s target Petra came to a silent stop on the far side of the door.

“Someone breached the dungeon.” The words came as a hiss - slinking past the edges of the door in the darkness. A secret desperately hidden, an impossibility. Petra’s brows rose in time with the astonished intake of air from one of the unseen guards.

“Assassins or thieves?” One queried in a gruff voice. Connor Stark, Petra identified him. A distant but professional guard to Petra, where other guards would insult Petra in earshot Connor would keep his comments to himself. All his disparaging remarks occurred late at night when he believed her past hearing.

The speaker’s voice breathed out his answer in a hush and Petra strained her ears to hear.

“We don’t know.”

Silence ruled the palace guards and the unseen spy. It was years past the Insurrection that cost the Hresvelg family the power of the crown, and the power had been taken away by the nobility to their own homes. A counter action was years too late. But the palace was not a soft target for random thieves. An attack made no sense - and unknown opponents were some of the most dangerous.

“How many?” Connor asked instead.

“Simone is swearing -”

A sudden crashing boom shattered the silence, the explosion rocking the palace. A cold chill ran down Petra’s back. Something had slithered into the diseased rat’s warren she was imprisoned in.

The Brigid princess padded backwards down the hall - eyes on the door. Cool instinct whispered that she had to find out what was happening.

Turning a corner she darted to where the balcony let out, pulling the curtain slightly to the side. The guards were leaving, armor gleaming in the flickering torchlight and gleaming moonlight, not all but only a handful were not rushing underneath her balcony into the palace.

Petra pulled one of the doors outside slightly open, slinking low onto the balcony. Any other night Petra would not dare - fully aware of her position as representative for her people. But she was just as aware of the Adrestian response to a bruised ego. If the serpent in the dungeons was not killed or captured…

Petra peered past the railing post of the balcony noting where the remaining guards were. Where they were looking. And she leaned out, pressing her fingers in the minute cracks and depressions in the palace walls.

As carefully and silently as her offering to the Spirit of the Hunt back under Brigid skies Petra inched across the building’s face. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she listened in the silence for any cries of alarm aimed at _her_.

The sounds she heard were continuing booms that threatened her grip as she worked her way to the balcony closest to hers. The increasing hustling of the palace guards. A growing murmur of worry.

Petra pulled herself over the balcony ledge. Carefully she let herself inside - the doors unlocked as she knew it would be.

Inside the room was covered in sheets and Petra could smell the undisturbed dust. No one had lived within for years.

Petra darted through the barren room of ghosts and lost memories to one of the palace halls.

Inside the sound of confusion and alarm only heightened. Petra ducked behind one of the large tapestries hanging upon the walls as a squad of guards pounded down the corridor. The palace was a wasp nest trampled by _something_. Petra waited a few moments before following, moving from one hiding place to another as she crept down the hall.

She need not have bothered, the deeper she followed the guards the more obvious it became where the dungeon entrance was. The pulled carts of explosives that were being dragged through the palace by hand were extremely telling.

Locating where the source of the commotion was not the difficult part, the difficulty was not being discovered. The closer Petra drew presumably to the entrance to the dungeons the more guards appeared. Petra was left with the distinct and disconcerting impression that the rest of the palace were scraped down to skeleton shifts. With ears pricked for the sound of armored footsteps Petra peered from atop of a shadowed armoire, down the bustling hall, straining her eyes.  
The lines of forms kept marching down the steps into the dungeon - but as Petra watched none returned. The group shoved a wagon of explosive barrels down the stairs, the sound of wheels bouncing uncontrollably echoing up. The sound of wood splintering, crashing - and the shaking explosion when a mage blasted a single ball of fire down the stairs. A plume of smoke and dust erupted from the opening and a new surge of fighters rushed down the stairs.

Screams and the sound of combat, the crash and chunk of weapons, the cacophony of armor resumed. And still no one returned from below.

Understanding sank deep in Petra’s bones, a knowledge that she did not need to be told. A great serpent had crept into the warren the rats of Aegir claimed. An _ulupong_ coiled at the bottom of the stairs, happily feeding itself upon the many rats that insisted on surging down to throw themselves into its mouth.

A serpent that had no desire to climb the stairs. Petra knew that some among the guards were terrified, the shaking figures visible in the group. Only long training and a firm hand by their leaders kept the less stouthearted among them from breaking. But that fear was based in walking the steps down to a killing ground, instead of the force or monster below pressing its advantage in coming up to where fresh targets were.

What cause was there for a force capable of taking on the palace guard of Adrestia to be in the dungeons of the palace? To be in the palace with no seeming desire to encroach further into the structure - Petra knew it was not her grandfather. She had been given up to prevent further death of her people and Brigid could not survive another war with Adrestia. Her grandfather would never risk their people in that way. And the attack was not in her people’s style - underground assaults hemmed one in, leaving a lack of room to maneuver. If it had been Brigid warriors they would have come in through the windows of the palace.

But the question remained - who had cause to infiltrate the dungeons of the Enbarr palace? The Vestra family who lived in the city and who had gained de facto control over the Hresvelg lands following the coup were the ones who held the valuable prisoners, there was no reason to -

Petra’s breath caught as she realized her mistake. If there was no reason the serpent in the basement would have crawled up the steps long ago or fled if it killed for killing’s sake. That whoever or whatever was below had not done so was reason enough to conclude that something valuable was down below. Something or someone - and what better place to hide something one doesn’t want found than where no would bother looking?

As Petra watched mages gathered in loose circles and raised their arms. The foundations of the palace rumbled as the magic users pounded the floor with spells, dust and debris rising into the air as the group attempted to break through.

It was time for her to leave - far past time. On quiet feet Petra inched to the corner of her perch - and looked down to meet the wide eyes of a palace guard. Petra leapt, not waiting for an instant and ran as fast as she could when her feet hit the ground.

“The savage brat is loose!” The guard howled behind her as Petra fled down the twisted mess of corridors. Petra dared not look behind her, hearing the hurried stomp of armored feet behind her. She darted up the stone steps to a servant’s passageway and clambered up an armoire collecting dust in a corner before jumping up at the supporting beams above, her feet scrambling desperately against the wall as she dangled by her fingertips. Sweat beaded upon her brow as she dragged herself those final inches into safe shadows as a troop barged in underneath her.

Petra held her breath, counting the explosions and the distant screams as she waited for the force to move on. A secret had been kept underneath the floorboards of the palace, untended embers that were sparking and threatening to envelop everyone as a sacrificial pyre to past mistakes. A secret that she did not know. But she knew of someone that may.

It was too long and not long enough when she crawled up the wall to where the private rooms of Ionius the IX’s opened onto a balcony. It should have been a gamble but whatever force was bleeding the guards of the palace had left only a token force guarding the Emperor of Adrestia.

But there was no need for anything greater. Ionius the IX was a broken man. Petra’s grandfather was older by many years but Petra knew in her heart with the certainty of the tides that her grandfather would long outlive the Emperor.

Petra only saw Ionius under strict supervision, one or the other accompanied by Aegir, Vestra, Varley or one of their lackeys - never mind the palace guards whose loyalties were never towards the head of the Hresvelg line. Allowing the two political prisoners with every reason and cause to dislike the current ruling powers of Adrestia to converse unseen was not a mistake that any of the ascendant houses of Adrestia cared to make. But Petra enjoyed the camaraderie the two shared from the opposing sides of the long banquet tables as the nobles flaunted their power and victory.

It was only now with the sound of the palace’s foundations being attacked that Petra realized that Ionius’ ever present watchers may not have been to prevent alliance between the all but deposed Emperor and the hostage Brigid princess. She slowly opened the door into the royal apartments - ready to jump from the balcony at a second’s notice if she was proven mistaken to the guards being absent.

Instead all she found was a thin man dressed in clothes that were too large for his frail frame that matched his sallow face slumped in an ornate and characteristically Adrestian style of ostentatious chair - a candle about to drown in its own wax the only source of light. Despite himself a half hearted ghost of a smile flickered on the face of Ionius IX for a few seconds. “Petra,” he whispered, face automatically turning towards the door that his guards must be on the other side of.

“There is some-” Petra stopped, searching for the right word in Fódlanese. Deep in Petra’s mind the stairs to the dungeons loomed - an open mouth to the underworld. The hair on the back of Petra’s neck prickled. An instinct screaming that whatever was in the dungeons it was not human. But this was Fódlan and _Spirits_ did not exist upon these strange and foreign shores.

“... A force in the dungeons.” Petra said in the end.

Ionius looked at her, a spark of hope she’d never seen in his tired eyes igniting. “Hubert always was devoted to Edelgard.” The man mused aloud with a smile. “And determined enough to succeed.” The man appeared to be moments from crying in relief, only their mutual attention that kept flicking to the door keeping his reaction in check.

Petra barely restrained herself from showing visible shock. She knew both those names. Hubert von Vestra, the heir to House Vestra and Edelgard von Hresvelg and Ioinius’ ninth child. And, by the Spirits, Ionius had all but stated that the carnage below was a rescue attempt.

Petra’s chest tightened as realization hit as devastating as a ship slammed against towering cliffs in a storm. Ionius once had eleven children but sickness reportedly had struck, decimating his line. Reportedly, when the children were elsewhere in Adrestia, away from the nominal seat of power of Enbarr. Reportedly when Edelgard von Hresvelg was in the dungeons of her own home. The watchers forever present when Petra and Ionius spoke never were listening for political machinations between them.

“What is happening in the dungeons?” Petra asked in the whisper of a candle flickering in a slight puff of air.

Ionius sombered, that pain that the man had carried with him for as long as Petra had known him returning, settling over him like a burial shroud. “Petra, you are not involved. And if you become involved they shall hound you unceasingly.”

Petra watched him in silence, feeling the shake of the building as another explosion rocked the foundations. There was a current in the water and she was uncertain whether it was possible to escape its pull. At last Petra nodded, looking away. Whether it was possible or not she owed her people to at least try.

Ionius rose to his feet shakily, a man ancient before his time. Petra knew in the same way she knew the constellations above Brigid that Ionius would die years before her grandfather despite being decades younger. Grief and helplessness had stolen his strength.

The man struggled to a distant wall, lifting something before turning back to her. A set of three blades dangled from his hands. Two were thin and deadly knives but the third is the one that riveted Petra’s attention. A thin but shining blade that straddled the line between dagger and shortsword.

“I think these are small enough to suit.” Ionius offered. Belatedly Petra looked around the room, at the glint of metal in the candlelight from the walls. An ever present taunt to a man who could no longer fight. Given the revelations of the night, Petra could only call the behavior as in character.

Petra accepted the weapons wordlessly, testing the balance of the longest. It was light in her hand, neither the hilt or blade pulling her hand one way or the other. Ionius handed her a sheath that fit the blade and with one of the knives Petra cut the attached belt to size for herself. Indeed the weapons would suit, the long dagger perfectly fit her reach.

Inside the room only the clamor from beyond the walls sounded. At last Petra spoke. “Fare well Ionius.” There was nothing else left to say. The all but deposed Emperor was too fragile to leave and she could not stay. Whatever occurred in the dungeon tonight Petra would be the premier scapegoat if only to buy time for a few days in claiming that Brigid had attempted to rescue their princess. The ignorance of Fódlan of Brigid would allow the lie to be believed for those few days. And even if the masterminds of what occurred in the dungeons below did not attempt to use Petra to hide their actions what was occurring was _something_ beyond politics and polite hostage taking.

Petra turned back to the balcony to make her escape. “If you see my children,” Ionius said and Petra turned around. The man stood, his weight held by the extravagant chair but his smile was sharp. “Tell them that Hresvelgs’ eagle was earned by refusing to fall.” The message was clear - _survive_.

Petra smiled at her fellow captive, and the closest thing to a friend she had had for the past months. “I shall Ionius.” Then the princess of Brigid jumped from the balcony to freedom.


	5. Foréiligh

1\. Noun - Requisition

* * *

The worst part was the waiting. It had to be done. Of their group of seven, three were moments from collapse and one of the remaining not far behind. Scurrying through the dark with no plan in mind was an excellent way to find a serpent's maw. And escape was not merely escaping from the walls of Enbarr and they did not have enough supplies. For all that Petra understood the reasons for the break, the feeling of seconds slipping away, the noose tightening, suffocated. 

Underneath Enbarr in a system and warren of tunnels Petra never knew existed, they waited. A smoky fire half choked upon a mostly rotten board. "Seiros" had left to scout the tunnel ahead. And Petra opened her pack to share her water and small chunks of bread with the group. She and Dorothea Arnault, the other tagalong of the royal rescue, turned away as the scions of Adrestia's ruling line fell upon the offerings like starving dogs. The pair also did not speak a single word as to why Petra kept her satchel of food by her side. All knew the truth of why already. Instead, Dorothea split her time between tearing out thin threads to hurriedly patch ripped clothing together, with the help of a needle that Petra had scrounged on her way out of the palace, and securing bandages with already prepped stolen poultices to wounds.

Petra swapped places with Edelgard von Hresvelg, taking over the rear watch. It was the only way to convince the royal to rest. Petra crouched, listening for sounds of anyone following them. Frowning, she listened for any of the sounds that should be there. Behind her was the quiet breathing of the group. The fidgets of the young Selene, twitchy in the smoky light. The long and rolling breaths of Balthizar as he stretched his bad leg. The sound of hands as Eliza ran her fingers over the cool stones. The creak and rustle of Edelgard and Dorothea packing tightly the supplies back into the satchels that housed them. The spluttering crackle of the forever half dead fire. Petra heard it all. 

But no rats. 

There was no sound of the skittering vermin. And in the heart of where the beasts should rule Petra feared what the cause of the lack was even as her hand rested on the hilt of her sword. She waited for footsteps. And she prayed to the Spirits of her home that she would hear them come from behind her.

The group stilled as one when the sounds of feet upon stone reached them. Petra did not need to look to know that Edelgard reached for her ax. Someone sacrificed the remaining water from the canteen to smother their fire, plunging everyone into the dark. And all they could do was wait as the sound of footsteps drew closer and closer. 

At last a light appeared - from behind them. Petra felt the group relax even as she turned to face the still mysterious Seiros, a small flame flickering in her palm. The dark haired warrior looked concerned. 

"We'll have to exit the city through the gates." The woman announced.

"Why not that tunnel?" Balthizar asked, worn and exhausted. "It certainly goes out much farther than the city walls, with how long you were gone." 

"Because there's a whole company of soldiers upon the far end in ruins that should be abandoned, and the tunnel is wired with explosives." Seiros answered evenly. "And signal fires travel damnably fast on such clear nights." Her meaning was clear, escape would not be had under the earth.

"Alright, what is our exit then." Edelgard said, leaning forward. 

Seiros shifted the flame lighting the darkness to her left hand as she waved her right hand parallel to the ground. Underneath a blue variant of the Fodlanese magic circles spun. And from the floor a flat map of the city in ice grew. "The city gates." Seiros stated, the representation rising up from the ice. 

The silence stretched as the group absorbed this plan. Balthizar and Eliza somehow enacted a staring match despite Eliza still being blindfolded while the others stared down at the ice map. 

"How will we be... achieving that?" Petra asked haltingly.

Soon after the group was on the move again. There was only so much time the group had and the plan would only work if it went off before dawn. Seiros led the group through the tunnels without hesitation, never second guessing her decisions through the labyrinth of tunnels. And still there were no rats.

Petra took up the rear of the group alongside Edelgard, letting her see the Hresvelg princess noticing as well the stonework of the ancient tunnels. Only once did Seiros actually halt in surprise. "Of course someone..." The woman muttered, running her hand along new brick, moss and age nearly making the section of wall indistinguishable from the rest of the tunnel. 

"Will we have to go up elsewhere?" Dorothea asked, Selene with one hand still clinging to the hem of her shirt.

Seiros stood silently before shaking her head. "No, I know a way to keep on schedule." 

The woman turned to the left, and straining her ears Petra could barely hear the woman mutter. "I told them to fix the foundation there, but Jakub never liked wasting money..." 

Onwards the group trailed behind the increasingly mysterious woman, until she raised a hand for them to stop. Then she stepped forward alone to a section of wall that looked just like every other section of wall in the dark tunnels. The tunnel flashed with light as first a red circle twisted into being beneath Seiros and then searing heat and light blasted the tunnel. And then disappeared as blue glowed, the color appearing to coat the wall. Again and again the two spells cycled until Seiros suddenly slammed her palms into the stone. A large hole appeared as the stones collapsed backwards and Seiros waved the group forward.

"We are almost at the clock tower." The woman announced. "And after that, you all know what you have to do."

The giant circular slab that hid the stairway up to the surface of Enbarr swung as smoothly as if on hinges that had been oiled yesterday. Petra stared as the heavy stone rotated back in place soundlessly, in defiance of all laws of dilapidation and decay. In the back of her mind old stories of Fodlan trickled from long ago nightmares. A land of abominations and desecrations. The Spirits called Fodlan when they spoke of it at all. And Petra could not help but imagine that they had wandered through the den of something. An anti-Spirit of frozen time. In a night where legends appeared all too real and plausible, Petra was all too aware that the old stories contained monsters equally as grand and terrible as the heroes. 

Balthizar clapped Petra on the shoulder, pulling her from her reverie. "Holding in there?" He asked, smile strained and not quite reaching his eyes. Petra nodded, tightening her pack. 

"No wonder the tunnel was never discovered." Dorothea commented aloud. Petra at last looked around. They were in the statue garden of the Broken Clocktower. Wherein the most famous statues and murals of the Adrestian Empire were kept in the shadow of the famously destroyed clocktower, a bronze cast statue of a demonic beast with wings spread perched in the rubble itself one of the highlights. A stylized version of Nemesis being handed a sword from a faceless Goddess, the Saints (the statue Seiros's face traditionally hidden in a hood) in various pious actions, the Ten Elite in various heroic combat stances, and more historical champions including the contemporary shared space with colorful mosaics. Petra glared at the plinth that the Count of Bergliez would eventually have a statue placed upon. A commemoration of his victory over her father.

Seiros peered out into the night, looking out upon the spots of fire in the dark from search parties. The woman studiously ignored the statues and artwork. "We'll take the side paths to the Mailya market."

Only then did the woman turn, pausing slightly as she caught sight of a specific statue. Slightly crouched the statue’s features were hidden in the dark. Petra knew the figure however. A teenager, tired and dirty but beyond all else furious, scooping up a brick to throw at the demonic beast. Seiros smiled, just a small quirk of the lips, nodding slightly at the old figure. 

The only pause in the group’s movements was the removal of two branches from a decorative tree for a crutch for Balthizar and a supporting walking stick for Eliza. Everyone winced at the clip and clop of the wood hitting the cobblestones with every step, all too aware of the noise as they tried to creep through the night.

The city was alive with the sounds of the guards thumping through the streets. Time after time Seiros would freeze and everyone held their breath as a squad of guards passed by on a parallel street. Block by block the group inched to their destination.

The group crouched beneath the wooden stalls silent and as still as a mouse knowing a hawk circled above. The chatter and jingle of metal rang loudly as the large group walked all too slowly past. The light from the torches danced, as if someone in the approaching party waved it. The laughter from an unheard joke echoed cruelly as the group hid. Petra watched as Seiros closed her eyes and listened as the squad of searchers marched by. One hand lay securely on the hilt of her sword, the other bearing Seiros’ weight so as to allow her to spring at the first indication of alarm. Very slowly the group moved on. And after a short pause for the escapees' hearts to calm, so did they. 

Close call after close call, their band of escapees and tag-alongs reached the center of the Maiyla Market. The streets with storefronts, buildings with goods secured inside overnight. Seiros immediately forced a door to a clothing store off its hinges. Petra seeing a butcher's shop tapped Edelgard on the shoulder and the two crossed the street. Out of the corner of her eye, Petra saw Dorothea liberate some packs for their use. Petra considered asking Edelgard for the ax but stepped aside to let the other girl break down the door with the ax. Instead Petra kept watch, one eye on Seiros and the other flicking between the others and the darkness of the streets beyond the baleful moon in the sky above. 

They needed supplies; blankets, warm clothing, food, water containers, shoes if they could manage it. Medical supplies. The entire city might have been bearing down on the group but escape would be short lived with winter bearing down upon the autumn without preparations.

Petra and Edelgard hauled out small bundles of salted and smoked meats while Dorothea and Selene brought thick fabrics out. Balthizar and Elene packed the goods tightly. Balthizar acting as Eliza's eyes. They worked furiously as a group. Seiros switching between opening doors and being an ominous shape in the dark, waiting. 

It was no surprise when the noise brought down a swarm of guards upon them. "Inside!" Seiros suddenly shouted, heaving up one of the broken doors to use as an impromptu shield. Arrows thudded into the wooden surface. Out from the darkness came a spread out force from both sides of the street. More ominously was the glints of arrowheads on the rooftops. An incredibly quick circle sprouted around Seiros before she threw a ball of fire forcing the snipers to duck, the firelight revealing their numbers. Petra threw open the shattered door of a shop for a pelting Dorothea, Selene slung over one shoulder, with the bought time. But Balthizar and Eliza were still stumbling towards the door when the first rank of cavalry broke into a charge. 

The sound of a cavalry charge is thunder. A pounding of hooves upon the cobblestones. Lances coming down to impale anyone that dared oppose the mounted cavaliers. A wave seeking to crash a ship into cliffs. A wave wanting to break them.

Hidden underneath the sound, a single rough chuckle weaved through the air. And then the horses screamed. 

A wave of cold washed over Petra as trained war horses panicked. One bucking his rider loose and near trampling others in the line in a desperate attempt to flee. Two others halted, skidding on the cobblestone, the momentum throwing a rider hard onto the unforgiving ground. Others shied to the sides of the street. Only one continued, the cavalier bearing his lance straight and true. The steed leaped over an overturned stall and kept charging. Bearing down directly on Seiros. 

Later Petra would remember the breath visible from the horse' nostrils and understand.

Seiros waited as the horse charged at her, hooves a war drum upon the stones, before leaping to the side and seizing the cavalier from behind as the horse galloped past. Seiros threw the man to the ground and immediately capitalized with a sword thrust through his neck. 

Petra and Edelgard seized Eliza and Balthizar's arms and dragged the pair the remaining distance inside. Seiros raised one hand towards them, her eyes set on the approaching forces. A blue circle sprung into existence in front of the outstretched palm, and a second circle bloomed upon the ground directly in front of the door. A block of ice rose upwards, blocking the entrance. The last thing that Petra saw before the ice blocked the outside from view was Seiros rolling her arms as the slaughter began. 

Behind them, Dorothea was already lighting a candle left on the counter. Behind it wheels of cheese wrapped in cloth waited on the shelves.

"Where's the back door?" Edelgard asked harshly, already pushing past Balthizar leaning on the wall. Dorothea pointed the candle, allowing molten wax to drip to the floor. And everyone stared at the wooden door in the back of the shop. The unbarred wooden door. 

Edelgard bolted to the entrance, bringing the ax head close to her chest to prevent it from cutting into anyone. Petra was right behind the other girl, jumping onto the counter and rebounding off the opposing wall to move around the injured. Edelgard reached the door right in time for a guard to open it. 

Edelgard swung the ax straight for the man's face. He jerked back in surprise. Petra ducked under Edelgard's arm, drawing her blade. She lunged for the man's throat. He slipped to the side and back. Her blade slashed down the side of his face. Petra felt hot blood spatter her fingers. But that was unimportant. 

She'd overextended. 

The guard looked at her. His arm pulled back. His weapon readied to strike. 

The man thrust his spear forward. Petra hit the wall hard, Edelgard's shove throwing her out of the weapon's way. The Hresevelg’s ax hit the man's arm, catching slightly on his mail. The blow wrenched the spear down to the dirt. And Petra sprung upwards again. She darted forward, rolling underneath the man's arm. And threw all her weight into driving her sword upwards - through the man's armpit into his heart. 

Blood gushed to the ground as Petra pulled her sword back. The lifeless body thumping to the ground was loud to her ears even over the sounds of exploding fireballs and screams from the other side of the shop. She shut her eyes momentarily. Men and beasts were not so different. She told herself. She had hunted before she'd become the hostage of her people. This was no different than that. But it was. 

"No." Edelgard hissed. Petra jerked her head up, seeing a trio of guards stepping forward. And Seiros was on the other side of the store, holding off an entire force. Petra looked behind her at a sudden scuffing sound, heart in her throat. A sniper would...

It was Dorothea picking up the dead soldier's spear in an atrocious grip. "I have not run this far tonight to die without a fight." Petra nodded in agreement, and all three watched the guards approach. Petra stepped to the front, crouching slightly and Edelgard stood between her and Dorothea. 

The trio of guards charged, and that was when the hidden mage struck. An unnatural ball of purple and black light struck the rearmost guard, exploding into a cloud with a loud concussive blast. Petra could not see through the plume of magic but she heard the shouts of confusion and dismay. She could smell the scent of death and decay, of rot and ruin. The guards' cries served only as a call for a bombardment, a second then a third ball of darkness slamming into the same spot. On the other side of the shop the fighting reached a fevered pitch and went silent. 

One guard stumbled forward only to collapse dead. Behind him was the mangled corpses of the other two, broken dolls upon the cobblestones. And behind the still warm bodies - a singular figure.

A singular figure who had made a terrible mistake. Everyone heard the roof of the shop above crunch slightly as Seiros leaped off it. She landed directly in front of the mage. And between blinks of an eye, the figure dangled from the warrior's grip. 

"I smelled you, warlock." Petra saw the flash of reflected moonlight then, not understanding until Seiros threw the thrown knife to the cobblestones with a clatter.

"Seiros, no!" Edelgard called, sprinting forward. "I know him!" 

Seiros did not set the mage down, did not even look away from him. But she refrained from immediately snapping his neck. Even as she caught a second knife. 

"His magic smells the same as the dark mages in the dungeons." Seiros stated. 

"Hubert was copying them. Copying them to try and help save me." At that Seiros finally looked at Edelgard. And then slowly set Hubert, Hubert von Vestra, onto his feet. 

From behind, Petra heard Dorothea mutter: "Manuela was right. Concentrated nobility is hazardous to your health."

In front of Petra, Edelgard leaped up at Hubert, folding her arms tight against his neck. For a few moments the terrifying visage of the heir to the Vestra Marquess stood silently in the night. And then he knelt, suddenly merely a teenager holding onto a friend he'd thought gone. Holding on as if Edelgard would disappear like sea mist if he let go. "Lady Edelgard," he breathed out. 

The paired taps upon the ground signalled the emergence of the other Hresvelgs. "Of course Hubert showed up." Balthizar announced happily as he led his sisters out the back door. "He doesn't know how to fail." Out of the corner of her eye Petra saw Dorothea pick up a fallen sword off the ground, sweeping the weapon experimentally. 

At Balthizar's words Hubert looked up. "Naturally." He intoned, rising to his feet. His eyes flicked between the Hresvelgs, Petra and Dorothea before settling on Seiros. "And you are?" He asked, tone superficially pleasant. The threat in his words did not need to be spoken. Not from a scion of House Vestra. 

"Seiros." Seiros answered, her attention focused on divesting from the dead a small bundle of medical supplies. 

Hubert stared at the woman. "That is a  _ horrible _ false name." The boy stated.

"Is it? I thought it quite subtle when I first chose it." Seiros replied, standing up. She handed over the medical supplies to Balthizar who quickly squirreled them into his bag. 

Eliza waved her hand at the group. "Obvious selection of pseudonyms aside... Are you coming with us Hubert?" 

The mage huffed in answer. "I serve Lady Edelgard, and I cannot do it if I am not by her side." 

"That makes this next part easier." Seiros said aloud. 

Too many close calls later, Petra was between Dorothea and Hubert, pressed to the wall in front of the north eastern gates to Enbarr. 

It was quite telling for Petra that none of them were worried about missing the signal while the full moon overhead crawled across the sky. They merely huddled in wait. Dorothea breathing upon her fingers attempting to keep them from stiffening. Hubert watching the shadows of the guards manning the gates with a glower. And Petra eying her route up and in. At last a thunder clap of sound resounded from the center of the city. The trio all turned to look at the spiral of flame spouting out from the central city gate. The main city gate and the largest. Immediately horns and drums sounded across the city. Bugling and clashing the sound rose and broke over the city. 

And as the city awoke to the thunderous sound Petra darted across the street, up the sides of the gatehouse and clung silently as the iron grates clanked up for the soldiers outside the city to stream in, betting on Seiros distracting the figure posted upon the top of the structure. As the guardsmen pounded through the gate underneath her, she slipped over the top of the ramparts drawing her blade to skewer the guard's neck from behind. Petra bit her lip as she quietly eased the man to the stone with her, ducking behind the ramparts, all too aware of how the clamor of a corpse would spell her end.

The last of the outside forces near the chosen gatehouse had marched through when the pair of portcullises clanked back down again. Petra counted each heartbeat as she waited for the sound of anyone attempting to climb up the hatch. Waited for a cry of alarm from before. Instead the only sound was the ongoing bombardment of spell fire from the center of the city. So Petra stood and waved to where she knew Hubert and Dorothea were. 

And then she put her trust into the two completing their part as she prepared to dive into the hornet’s nest of the guardhouse from above. An explosion blasted from below and Petra yanked open the hatch. She threw herself down from above, driving one of her swords into the neck of a guard. The confusion of her attack, combined with the explosion from below bought her seconds to roll to her feet as the remaining guard froze. 

The gatehouse had two floors, each controlling a different portcullis grate. Below Petra heard the distinctive explosion of Hubert’s magic. And in front of her the guard lifted his ax. Petra leaped backwards as the man swung his ax forward in a sweeping arc. She danced to the left, attempting to reach his back. The man just kept twirling his ax, keeping the weapon in constant motion. The weapon’s overlapping paths created a field of death just in front of the man. 

_ Feint _ , Petra told herself.  _ If you can’t get behind him, you need the ax to stop moving.  _ Petra moved in front of the giant wheel connected to the portcullis. She swept her blade out, intentionally wide, letting her balance lean too much to the left. Her opponent instantly seized the presented opportunity, continuing the momentum of his ax into an overhead strike. The ax swung downwards. Petra dropped to her knees, the weapon coming to a halt just overhead. The blade sunk into the wood winch wheel. The guard let go of his weapon and instantly kicked out at Petra. 

A metal grieve caught Petra upon her left side, throwing her to the ground. Petra kept rolling, trying to get back to her feet. The guard realized he would not be able to wrench his ax free quickly and followed her. His desire to beat her to death with his hands plain on his face. 

Petra lashed out, aiming her blade for the guard’s open helm. Aiming for his eye. Blood welled as she opened up a cut down his face instead. The guard backhanded her, hard. Petra’s head smacked hard upon the stone walls. 

Petra’s vision swam as she stood back up, needing to put one hand on the stone behind her. She saw the vicious grin on the guard and raised her sword once more.  _ How long are his arms? _ Petra asked herself, attempting to gauge their length through her spinning head. Too far for her blade to reach anything vital from outside the man’s guard. 

Petra managed to duck under the first overhead blow. The guard rammed his knee into her chest, driving all the air from her lungs. Before she could recover, a gauntleted fist smashed into her face. Another blow rained down on Petra. Then a third. A kick attempted to wrench her blade from her hand. 

The guard cried out- and Petra threw herself upward. She slashed her sword across his throat. The man died with a bloody gurgle, clawing at his throat, attempting to stop his lifeblood from spilling out. 

Petra spat out blood as she watched him die, exhaustion finally settling over her. “Petra!” Dorothea cried, stepping around the body to kneel next to the Brigidese Princess. Her looted sword was red with blood. “How’s your head?” Dorothea asked seriously. 

Petra tried to smile reassuringly, but the taste of blood on her teeth told her it was ineffective. “I can still... “ Petra frowned, trying to find the word as her head throbbed. She gave up and imitated pulling something down. “The gates after us.”    
  
Dorothea frowned in response. “Let’s get you to the others first.”

Together the two walked down, Dorothea supporting Petra as she limped down the stairs. Hubert looked up at the two as he searched the corpses for money and supplies. The teenager frowned at the sight of Petra. 

The throbbing in her face made her very certain that she had a blossoming bruise growing out from her left eye. 

“If you can find me a long enough rope I can climb down.” Dorothea told Hubert bluntly. The Vestra heir nodded in agreement. Petra twisted to look at Dorothea. “My job.” Petra reminded weakly. Dorothea shook her head. “Not anymore.” 

The group moved the corpses to the side of the room before Hubert left to gather the Hresvelgs while Dorothea and Petra began the work of cranking up the gates. The two worked in silence, focused on the turning of the wood to pull the chains of the portcullis up. The first of the two barriers was up when the rest of their group arrived.

Edelgard led, wiping fresh blood from her ax with a swatch of someone’s torn clothing. Eliza in particular was grinning. “I like my stick.” She informed Dorothea and Petra - looking a little too far to the left to be actually looking at them. “It is good for thwacking.” Balthazar shrugged at the combined looks Dorothea and Petra gave him. Apparently the group had been found while everyone else had been storming the gate house.

Hubert brought up the rear of the group, a long coil of rope slung over his arm. And from there Petra’s memory blurred. Dorothea and Hubert headed out to the outer stables to steal a horse and wagon. Petra climbed back up to the top of the gate house to tie the rope securely to a rampart and toss the end over. 

And when she limped back down the stairs Balthizar, Edelgard and Eliza were as a group moving a fire barrel into the guardhouse while Selene stood as lookout. Balthazar rubbed his hands in anticipation as he carefully cracked the lid and began to scoop out the materials inside. Petra nudged Edelgard in concern. 

The Hresvelg princess patted Petra on the shoulder. “Balthazar before,” The girl’s face twitched. “Before, used to spend his days finding new and inventive ways to blow things up.” 

Balthazar answered over his shoulder, the most cheerful Petra had seen him. “I also found new and exciting ways to dye clothing.”   
  
“Stain.” Eliza corrected under her breath. “And clear out rooms with noxious fumes.” 

“We’re blowing up the gates?” Petra asked aloud. Selene nodded at her, face smeared with dirt. 

Nerve wracking explosion stackings later, Petra was watching Dorothea clamber down from the gatehouse. Alongside both sets of the portcullis were barrels from a smashed open warehouse left unguarded in the chaos. And more in the gatehouse to damage the mechanisms for lifting the metal gates beyond repair. 

Hubert sat in the front of the wagon as driver, the reins to a pair of horses held in his hand. Everyone else was in the back of the wagon alongside the supplies, except for Selene waiting by the end of the trail of powder that led to the gates. With a pair of flint stones. 

Dorothea ran to the youngest of the Hresvelgs. In the moonlit night Petra saw sparks of red. Dorothea hefted Selene up and into the back of the wagon and jumped onto the back herself, knocking her fist loudly on the wagon’s wood. 

Hubert cracked the reins and the horses started moving swiftly down a dirt trail. Behind them the sparks of red ate up the powder on its way to the gates. A gigantic boom sounded behind them, the gatehouse lit in firelight. Petra grinned alongside the others at the warped and twisted gates that would never again rise. Unseen, but not unheard, Dorothea climbed on top of the wooden caravan wagon to join Hubert.    
  
“Did Balthizar blow it up right?” Eliza asked.

“Just like the time he locked himself in the workshop.” Edelgard confirmed. 

Eliza paused. “That bad?” The blindfolded woman said. “Good job Balthizar.” 

“Have some faith please.” Balthazar responded. Eliza rallied and Selene sat herself between the two. The group settled together and were moments from beginning to drowse. Petra wrestled a blanket out from a pack and passed it to the trio.   
  
Petra then crept to the front of the wagon to sit behind Dorothea and Hubert, Edelgard following.

“Lady Edelgard,” Hubert softly called behind his back. “This trail ends at a river bend. There are a few passages I can think of where we can take the horses through and float the wagon. However, if we are to reach shelter before we are followed by forces from Enbarr we’ll need to cross before dawn.”

Dorothea spoke up. “Seiros asked for us to wait for her at the trail’s end.”

Hubert shook his head. “The odds of her surviving her suicidal stand are low.” 

Dorothea and Petra exchanged looks with each other. 

“Seiros will arrive before dawn.” Edelgard said with confidence. “If we arrive at the riverbend before she catches up we wait for her.” The Hresvelg scion stated her words as if they were written in the stars shining above them in the sky. 

**Author's Note:**

> Great thanks to S J C of Spacebattles who originally came up with the seed of this idea and then allowed me to adopt and run into the sunset with it. Also my gratitude and thanks to Tamahori and pheonix89 for helping with the edits, betaing and in general letting me drag out the writing board and talk for hours about ideas. You guys are the best.


End file.
